


Seven Raptors

by DragonWrites



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crew as Family, Episode: e060-066 The Stolen Century Parts 1-7, Evil Twins, Gen, I hope you like Davenport angst because hoo boy, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-05-01 00:03:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 105,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14508099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonWrites/pseuds/DragonWrites
Summary: In a distant plane, Fate brings together seven scientists and explorers, who set out to explore the unknown and find themselves on a mission to save all of existence.In another, far harsher plane, Fate brings those same seven together again.  But these Seven Birds have been shaped by a crueler, much less forgiving world.  These Seven Raptors are the villains in their story.And when the two flocks meet, each of the Seven Birds must come face to face with who they might have been--who they might still become--if they let the darkness consume them.





	1. Barry Bluejeans Gets Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry looks in a mirror. Davenport tries to express himself. Lup loses her temper.

Barry Bluejeans was lost.

He'd been lost before.  Getting lost was a common hazard of exploration, especially when said exploratory mission involved interdimensional travel.  So, really, this was nothing new.

Still, that didn't make it any less terrifying.

For the dozenth time, his mind started ticking down all the problems and hazards he now had to worry about.  He was stuck at the bottom of a shallow ravine, into which he'd half-climbed, half-slid when a sudden dust storm came up, kicking clouds of sand along the rough desert landscape he'd been crossing.  He was separated from Taako, Magnus, and Merle, and he could not find his Stone of Farspeech to call for help.  The ravine's walls had a few stable handholds for him to theoretically climb back up again, but he thought he may have twisted an ankle, maybe?  He wasn't sure; he just knew it hurt something awful to put too much weight on his left foot.  So climbing was off the table.  Heat was an issue.  His canteen had sprung a leak, so thirst might become an issue soon.  He'd seen at least two scorpions in this ravine, and something had slid into the shadows behind a rock that might have been a snake, or might have been a very long lizard, he wasn't sure.  Sand had gotten into just about every orifice, and as the sun climbed higher into the sky, his options for shade grew more limited. 

And that wasn't even to mention the bands of desert raiders that supposedly claimed this place as their territory. 

He shifted deeper into the shade, and checked his canteen again.  He'd covered the leak with a bit of oil cloth, which he hoped would hold for a little bit.  He wondered what the others were doing.

He really hoped they could get the Light this cycle.  They'd lost the last three planes, but he'd felt a flare of determination after the last world was consumed, when Lup had made her heartfelt speech about keeping hope alive in the face of so much devastation.  He believed her, when she said they could one day defeat the Hunger and save everyone inside.  He believed her.

The rest of the crew had seemed energized by her speech, too.  They'd landed on this next plane and leapt into action, quickly tracking rumors of the Light to a small and struggling community of humans at the edge of a harsh desert.  The people there were poor, but the Light coming down into their Town Square had been cause for a momentous celebration, and they'd installed the Light in its own shrine, hoping it would turn their fortunes around.

So went the rumors.

The town had been a smoking shell by the time the crew arrived.  Houses burnt, cobblestones torn up.  Most disturbingly, gaping holes in the town cemetary.  And the Light's shrine broken and empty.

A black talon had been painted on the front of the town hall. 

The middle-aged man they'd hired to guide them shook his head and looked away.  "Raptors," he said. 

"Raptors?"  Captain Davenport had fixed the man with one of his sharp gazes.  "Can you explain?"

The man rubbed his beard.  "The worst of the desert gangs," he said.  "They have a reputation for taking what they want and leaving . . ."  He waved a hand, showing off the devastation.  "If I were you, I'd forget about the Fallen Star and go back home.  There's nothing here for you."

Davenport frowned.  "Unfortunately that's not an option for us," he said.  "Can you tell us any more about them?  Where they might be found?  How big a group they are, who leads them--"

The man cut him off with a short, barking laugh and a shake of his head.  "You're asking me to tell you how to find your executioners," he said.  "You want to know about them, go into any back-hole tavern and ask a bard to tell you a few tales.  That'll chill your blood right quick." 

So they had.  And those tales had given Barry indigestion for days.  The Red Falcon, the Condor, the Vulture, the Dark Owl, the Golden Eagle, the Fire Hawk, and the Quillbird.  Bringing death and devastation wherever they went.  Not even leaving corpses behind.

But he'd still volunteered to go out scouting with Taako, Magnus and Merle.  He'd been feeling brave.  He wanted to help.

Huddled at the bottom of the ravine, Barry shivered.  Briefly he moved into the sunlight, just to warm himself a little, then ducked back into the shade when the back of his neck began to burn.  The guide hadn't been kidding about how dark some of the tales were.  He tried to force his mind off some of the more lurid details.  He had enough to worry about right now.

He heard footsteps at the top of the ravine.  He scrambled to his feet without thinking, and gasped as the pain in his left ankle spiked.  He slid to the ground again.  "Magnus, is that you?" he called.  "Taako, Merle?"

The footsteps paused.  A face appeared at the top of the ravine.  It was a middle-aged man wearing a dark, sand-dusted cloak over a white t-shirt stained with sweat.  He lifted back the hood.  Barry blinked, and did a double-take.

It was him.  Pale, with dark circles under his eyes and a scraggly beard.  But it was _his face._

"Uh…hello?" he said. 

"Uh, hello," said the man, in his own voice.  He squinted through his glasses, and gave him a weak, lopsided smile.  "Ah, heh-heh, this is weird.  You look just like me?"  He scratched his cheek in the same way Barry did when he was embarrassed.

Barry's jaw dropped open.  "Oh wow, okay!  Look, this is going to sound weird, but I swear I'm not an illusion or anything.  Is your name Barry?"

His doppleganger blinked.  "Ah, yeah it is?" he said.  "Not that anyone's called me that in--in a long time."

Barry's heart thudded in his chest.  What were the odds?  "I'm Barry, too!  I mean, not 'two' as in the number, 'too' as in also.  You may not believe me, but I'm you from another dimension.  Long story, but anyway I, ah, I've become separated from my friends and now I'm stuck down here and I can't seem to walk on my ankle, it may be sprained but I'm not sure?  Could you, ah, help a buddy out?"

The other Barry kept staring at him.  "This is amazing," he said.  "Unprecedented."

He wondered if his own expression was similar when he encountered a scientific revelation.  Maybe?  He'd never thought to look at himself in a mirror when he made a new discovery.  "I know, right?  One hell of a coincidence.  I'm used to dimensions filled with, like, mushroom people and robots."

The other Barry rubbed his beard.  "Yeah, of course I can get you out.  I've got some friends with me, they can help.  Oh, and is this yours?"  He reached down to dig up something by his foot, and held it up.  It was his Stone of Farspeech, strung on a leather cord.  It must've fallen off into the sand when he'd slid down the ravine.

A weight lifted off his chest.  Maybe this scouting mission wasn't such a disaster after all.  "Yeah!  That's mine.  I can call my friends on it.  You have to meet them!  They'll, like, flip their collective lids!"  He wondered, if this plane was close enough to their home plane that he could find his own double, would the others have doubles, too?  His brain lit up with possibilities.

The other Barry tapped the stone, and it crackled to life.  Now that it wasn't buried in sand, he could hear Magnus's voice.  "Barry?  Barry, are you there?"

The other Barry smiled.  He turned away from the ravine for just a moment, long enough for Barry to see the dark tattoo of a vulture spread across the back of his double's neck.  "Yeah, I'm here," said his double into the stone.  "I'm fine."

And with a flare of black necrotic power, he crushed the stone in his hand. 

Before Barry could react, his doppleganger waved forward his 'friends', and half a dozen shambling corpses appeared over the rim of the ravine and started climbing down to him.

Barry opened his mouth and began to scream.

His double lifted a wand.  " _Sleep_ ," he said, and the world went black.

 

#

 

"Lup?  May I have a word with you?"

Lup looked up from her notes to find Davenport standing in the doorway of the lab.  She straightened and stretched.  The pink crystal from the Robot Kingdom sat on the table in front of her, and she'd been running diagnostics on its arcane energy output.  No dangerous experiments, nothing that could put the souls inside in danger.  Just light touches of magic detection.  "Hey Cap'nport," she said.  "What's up?"

Davenport's eyes flicked towards the pink crystal and back up to her.  His expression was cautiously blank, but his ears flicked in that way she'd learned to recognize as nervousness.  He stood stiffly at attention, hands clasped behind his back.  "We haven't really had a chance to talk one-on-one since we started this cycle, but I, ah, I wanted to talk to you.  About your, ah, what you said just before we arrived."  A blush was creeping across his nose. 

Lup relaxed against the work table, suppressing the urge to brag about her kick-ass speech and waiting for him to speak.  She could tell from a mile away that her captain was about to wade into the dangerous waters of emotional vulnerability, something that he still had a lot of trouble doing, despite the crew's concerted efforts to peck away at his stonewall defenses.  She'd had the occasional success getting him to open up a little, and had found it worked best to give him space to slowly work towards what he wanted to say.

It was something he needed to work on.  He needed to learn to loosen up a bit and maybe share the weight of the Mission with the rest of the crew once in a while.  His single-mindedness was admirable, but it was exactly the kind of myopic focus that led to decisions like "Let's blow up a crystal full of souls so the Hunger doesn't get ahold of it."

"I--um.  Well."  He gave another glance at the pink crystal, before moving his gaze around the lab, as if making sure everything was in order.  Unable to meet her eyes.  "I know I said I was putting my hand in the circle, and I mean that.  I do.  I--"  He cleared his throat.  "I wanted to thank you, for speaking up as you did."  And now his gaze finally, finally made its way back to her face.  "This Mission, the stakes are almost beyond comprehension.  And our enemy appears unassailable.  And being on each world for only a year, only to leave it to be either devoured or--or at the very least, badly damaged, it's almost too easy to lose sight of, of why we're doing this."  He held his hands out, opening and closing them, as if trying and failing to grasp something.  "So I--thank you, Lup.  For pulling us--for pulling _me_ back from that precipice."

Lup slipped into a chair so she was closer to his height.  "Hey, Cap," she said.  Carefully she took his hands in her own.  He stiffened slightly at the touch, but let out a breath and relaxed.  "You've had to make some pretty hard decisions on this Mission.  And I can't fucking begin to imagine what it's like for you.  But you can do this.  _We_ can do this, together.  I really believe that."

"I know you do, Lup.  I appreciate that."

"You need a hug, Cap?"

His blush, if possible, deepened.

She laughed.  "Okay, too much?"

"No, I--I mean--it's okay, I just--"

She put her arms around him.  Davenport--well, he didn't exactly relax into the gesture, but he did at least put his hands around her back, tentatively.  It was a step up from the days when he'd just stand like a statue.

His Stone of Farspeech crackled.  "Cap'nport?" came Magnus's voice, distant and scratchy.

Davenport cleared his throat, and they broke apart while he brought the stone to his mouth.  "Yeah, Magnus?  What's the report?"

"Uhh…I don't know how to say this in a way that's good, but we've lost Barry."

Lup's heart skipped a beat. 

Davenport's whole body seemed to shift, the lines becoming harder, his spine straightening.  Back to Captain mode.  "Lost as in separated, or dead?"

"Oh geez, I mean separated!  We were separated.  I _hope_ he's not dead.  But nothing's coming in over his Stone."       

Impulsively, Lup snatched the Stone out of Davenport's hand.  "The fuck, Magnus?  How did you get separated?!  The plan was to _not get separated at all costs!"_

"Lup."  Davenport held out his hand for the Stone.  She grimaced, but handed it back.  "Magnus, I have the exact same question.  How did it happen?  How far away do you think he might be from your current location?  Start with the first question.  I'm heading towards the common room to take a look at the map."

Lup followed, her mind racing.  She should be out there with the others.  With Barry.  The guy was a brilliant scientist, but he couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag. 

"Well, there was a sandstorm," said Magnus.  "We were near this ravine and we all climbed down into it for shelter, but it's kind of a twisty-turny kinda place--"

"Don't forget the scorpions!" came Merle's voice in the distance.  "Tell him about the scorpions."

"Yeah, and there were scorpions too, but not super big or anything.  But Barry somehow got separated from us when we all ran for the ravine, so he may have climbed down at another point, and . . . yeah, I don't know where he is."

"Then look for him!" Lup snapped.

Taako's voice came on the line.  "Whaddaya think we're doing, Lulu?  We've--we've been doing nothing _but_ looking for him.  Guy couldn't find his way out of a paper bag."

They'd reached the common room by now.  A map of the local area was laid out on the table, its corners pinned down by a few oddly-shaped rocks and one of Davenport's many coffee mugs.  Davenport leaned over it, his fingers trailing almost immediately along a jagged line that cut along the southwest quadrant.  "You're likely in Dead Snake Gully," he said.  "Are you near a fork?"

"Uh…no?"

"Well, have you passed any forks?  Which direction have you been traveling?"

Silence over the Stone.  They could just barely hear the three conferring, arguing.

Lup realized she was grinding her teeth.  They knew this place was dangerous.  The only reason she stayed behind on the ship was that Davenport insisted that at least one of their big guns stayed behind to protect the Starblaster from the threat of desert raiders.  "Why did we even send Barry out?" 

"He volunteered," said Davenport. 

Lup's glare deepened.  Davenport looked up, and his all-business Captain face slipped a little, revealing the sorrow beneath.  He looked down again, at the Stone clutched in his hand. 

"I'm sorry, Lup," he said.  "It was--I let him go.  I thought, with a larger group, they could keep each other safer."

She sighed.  The frustration and worry that made her heart pound in her chest was deeper than general concern for a crewmate.  She realized this now.  Hell, she'd realized it halfway through the last cycle.  But she couldn't put it into words yet.  And she knew Davenport was just being practical.  That was his job.  "It's not your fault, Cap," she said, running a hand through her hair.

"No, but it is my responsibility."  He met her eyes, and there was her fierce, unyielding Captain Davenport again.  "We'll get him back, don't worry."

Magnus's voice returned.  Both Davenport and Lup bent their full attention to the map, their fingers trailing over the curving line, guided by Magnus's descriptions.  Refusing to let Barry stay lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, this is my first TAZ fic! I hope you like it :) I'm planning to update once or twice a week, and already I'm about 8 chapters in so expect this to keep going for a while. Warning that it does get bloody and pretty deep into some angst territory. But I promise it has a happy ending! Eventually... Plus it's the Stolen Century, so we know injury & death aren't permanent for the Seven Birds.
> 
> Also, this is going to be pretty Davenport-centric overall, because he's a character who can always use more exploration (pun intended!). And expect a lot of Barry Bluejeans and Lup because I can't get enough of those two crazy kids.


	2. The Vulture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry doesn't move. Magnus tries to look on the bright side. Lucretia uses her noggin.

"Vulture."  Davenport's voice echoed out of the darkness.  Barry could hear it, but it sounded like he was underwater.  "I've heard some very interesting reports from my scouts.  Care to tell me why you brought someone here without informing me?"

Barry opened his mouth to call out to his Captain, but someone beat him to the punch.  Someone with his own voice.  "Ah, heh-heh, yeah I forgot to mention.  Sorry, sir.  But you're not gonna believe this."  The doppleganger voice drew closer.  He felt a hand on his shoulder, a prod of fingers.  He opened his eyes.

His face, pale and with a scraggly beard, peered down at him.  The other Barry reached somewhere out of view and swung a lamp on an articulated arm so its glow fell right on him, like he was a specimen being examined.  Barry squeezed his eyes shut and groaned.

"Vulture," came Davenport's voice again.  "What the fuck am I looking at?"

"He's me," said the other Barry.  "But from another dimension?  Well, that's what he told me."

"Is that so."  There was something odd about the Captain's tone.  Something low and dangerous in his voice that reminded Barry of a sheathed knife.  But he couldn't see.  Anything outside the lamp's glare was darkness.  "And what exactly are you planning to do with this extra you?"

"Uh, the usual."

"Was he alone?"

"Yeah, but he said he has friends.  I think they were looking for him?  But I broke their communication device and covered our tracks.  They shouldn't be finding him anytime soon."

There was an icy pause.  "Well," said Davenport.  "Overconfidence never kept anyone alive.  Send out some of your scouts to beef up the patrols.  It wouldn't do to let his 'friends' get the drop on us.  And Vulture?"

"Yeah, sir?"

A dark, hulking shape barrelled out of the shadows, grabbed the other Barry around the neck with one meaty hand and slammed his head against the table, right next to Barry's hip.  The motion sent the lamp spinning away, and Barry's eyes adjusted to see Magnus-- _Magnus!_ \--holding his double against the table.  His face and arms were covered in more scars than Barry had ever seen, and his expression was terrifyingly blank as he held the squirming man down.  A tattoo of a condor, talons out and wings spread, covered one shoulder.

And there was his captain.  For an instant, Barry's heart swelled in relief.  Davenport, steady and reasonable, could figure this whole mess out and put everything to rights, as he had so many times before.  But that hope immediately sank.  This wasn't his captain.  This was a gnome with his captain's face, his captain's pencil moustache and thin face and prominent nose.  But his hair, usually so meticulous, was a wild unkempt flame, and his eyes were alight with rage.

Davenport stalked up to the table and leaned dangerously close to the face of Barry's doppleganger--the Vulture, he remembered now, with horror.  "You know what you did wrong, Vulture?" he growled.

This Davenport had no ears.  What the--?

"Sir--?" the Vulture gasped, Magnus's fingers still crushing his windpipe.  Magnus, the Condor.

"You decided to beg forgiveness instead of ask my permission."  Davenport's voice was rising.  "And _you know what happens when people beg me,_ RIGHT?!"  He grabbed the arm of the lamp and swung it around, bringing its burning light down against the side of the Vulture's face.  The Vulture screamed.  Barry smelled burning flesh.

Davenport held it there for far too many seconds before shoving the lamp away.  A trail of smoke followed it. 

Barry could hear high tittering laughter from somewhere far away.  "Burn, burn!" a voice sang gleefully. 

Oh gods.  _Lup._

Davenport dug his fingers into the Vulture's hair and yanked, slamming his head against the table.  "Don't ever.  _Ever._   Go over my head like that again.  Am I _fucking clear,_ Vulture?!"

Barry stared at this mockery of his captain.  He had ears, Barry could see that now.  But their sharp points had been sliced off, and all that remained were little nubs, mostly concealed among his orange curls. 

"Y-yes sir!" the Vulture squealed.  "It, it won't happen again!"

"It better _fucking not_."  Davenport nodded his head, and the Condor let the Vulture go, stepping back with eerie silence.  He turned and stalked away, and the Condor followed.  Barry saw that most of Davenport's tail was missing, too.  "And don't keep me waiting on those scouts."

Barry lay unmoving on the table.  Even if he wasn't tied down, he didn't want to move.  Moving would make this whole nightmare that much more real, with him trapped inside it. 

So he didn't move.  He lay still and listened to Lup's distant, crazed laughter, and the sound of his own voice, sobbing in pain.

 

#

 

"Well, we got… _sorta_ good news," said Magnus, stepping onto the Starblaster's gangway.  "After our last call, I tried getting in contact with Barry again."

"And?"  Lup's fingers were white-knuckle tight on the edge of the doorframe. 

"And I heard him!  He came in and said he was fine.  But then his stone cut off again?"

Taako met Lup's eyes.  "Could be weird magical interference," he said quietly, as if to reassure her.  Lup realized that he knew what she was thinking, what she was feeling.  He could practically see the heart pounding frantically in her chest.  Gods, was she that transparent?

"Okay," said Davenport, as the three came aboard.  "Okay.  Here's the plan.  I'm going to take the ship low along the top of the ravine.  Everyone else get in position along the deck.  Keep your eyes out and look for any sign of movement."    He gestured to the common room table which, in addition to the map, now held an assortment of binoculars and spyglasses.  "If you have anything that can enhance eyesight, increase the range of magical scanning, whatever, now's the time to bring it out." 

"I think I still have that pair of Farsight Spectacles I got on Cycle 11," Merle offered. 

"And Lup, didn't you find an infrared detector last cycle, on one of your scavenging outings?" Lucretia asked.  Her voice, too, was low and cautious, as if she sensed Lup's tension.  "I'm, um, not sure how well it'll work in the heat and bright sunlight, but it might be worth a shot?"

Lup nodded, and forced a cavalier smile.  "That's using your noggin, Lucy!  Good thinking."

Lucretia blushed.  Girl was still unused to compliments, unused to thinking of herself as _useful_.  Something she needed to work on. 

But Lup couldn't worry about that now.  They had to find Barry.  They just . . . she didn't want to lose him this cycle.  Not so soon.  Not like this.

The Starblaster flew slowly along the ravine, its belly skimming just a few meters above the ground.  Everyone but Davenport stood spread along the deck railings, looking in every possible direction.

"Wait," said Merle suddenly, adjusting the spectacles on his nose.  "I thought I saw something glinting down there!"  He pointed into a shadowed corner of the ravine.

Davenport brought the ship to a stop.  Lup literally flew down, throwing herself over the edge and casting Featherfall, not even waiting for him to land the ship or lower the gangway.

It was Barry's canteen glinting at the bottom of the ravine, slowly leaking water. 

There were no footsteps anywhere.  Even if there had been once, wind-blown sands had covered them.  She gritted her teeth.

"What's this?" came Magnus's voice from the rim of the ravine.

"Ah, crap," she heard Taako mutter.  "This ain't good."

"Taako?" she snapped.  "What is it?"

Her brother was looking at something in his hand.  He met her eyes, and his mouth was a tight line.  Like he didn't want to say it.

"It's Barry's Stone of Farspeech," said Davenport.  "Or, what's left of it.  Looks like it's been shattered."

Lup's blood chilled.  She forced herself to stay focused.  She couldn't freak out now.  "Toss me down a piece, Cap'nport?"  She held out a hand, and smoothly caught a shattered bit of stone that he threw down over the edge.  Pulling out her wand, she did a quick scan.  The Stone was no longer functioning, but she could still sense traces of arcane energy.  Fading threads of the shattered enchantment, mixed with faint traces of necrotic energy.  She frowned.

"Merle, you up there?" she called.

"Yeah?"

"Do a scan of the area.  I think we might be dealing with a necromancer."  She held her words tight to keep from breaking.

"Ah, shit.  Yeah, I'll scan."  There was a moment's pregnant pause, and then, " _Whoa_."

"I take that as a yes?"

Merle grumbled something she couldn't hear.  He appeared at the lip of the ravine.  "Well, _something's_ been through here.  It was a while ago, the trail's gone cold.  But there was definitely something here."

Shit. 

"Um, Merle?" came Lucretia's voice.  She was standing near the edge of the ravine, sketching something in one of her ubiquitous journals.  "Didn't the tales about the Raptors mention them having undead soldiers?  And there were all those open graves in that village they ransacked . . ."  Her voice trailed off.  Lup could see her shudder from here.

The others all turned to look at Lucretia, as well.  There was an uncomfortable silence.  Even in the fading light of day, the desert felt suddenly chilly.

Davenport rubbed his face with one hand.  "Okay, we'll have to bear that in mind," he said.  "We'll follow the ravine on foot in both directions, see if we can't find some clues.  Taako, Lucretia, why don't you join Lup down below.  The rest of us will search up top, while we still have daylight.  And keep your eyes and ears open.  If Barry has been captured by the Raptors, who very likely have the Light, we may be able to--"  He paused, cleared his throat.  "If we find one, we may get lucky and find the other."

Lup knew what he had been about to say.  _Kill two birds with one stone._

 

#

 

Barry woke up to a pounding headache.  Had he dozed off again?  He blinked, and shuddered against his restraints as he remembered where he was.  In the Vulture's lab, tied down to a table with leather straps. 

Gods, how mad-sciencey was this?

His shirt was gone.  His chest ached.  There was a burning line of pain right down the center, from his sternum to his navel.  The Vulture stood over him, muttering to himself as he marked something down in a notebook.

"Well, you're not kidding," he said, not even looking up from his notes.  The Vulture's hood was down, and the burn on the side of his face had been healed, though there was still an outline of raised flesh tracing the outline of the lamp's burning metal shade.  "As far as I'm able to tell, your insides are exactly the same as mine.  Heh-heh.  Weird, huh?" 

Barry blinked, taking a moment to process this.  He tilted his chin down as far as it could go and saw a red, healing scar running in a line down his chest.  "H-holy shit," he gasped.  "Did you just _vivisect_ me?!"

"Vivisection's the gift that keeps on giving," the Vulture remarked, then chuckled at his own joke.  "Hey, man, I put you to sleep for it.  I'm curious, but I'm not an asshole."

Barry strongly disagreed.  His head sagged back.  This nightmare was just getting worse.  "You--please tell me you put everything back, right?  You didn't, uh, _alter_ me in any way I should know about?"

"Nah, this was just exploratory.  Testing out theories."  The Vulture chewed on the end of his quill.  "So, another dimension, you said?  Now that's a story.  What's it like there?  Would you say it has a similar gravity, similar atmosphere--"

A loud pounding noise rang out through the lab.  It was the sound of someone banging on metal.  "Hooooney," came Lup's cracked, sing-songy voice.  "Let me out to see it.  I wanna see your burning flesh.  Is it on fire?"

"No, sweetie," said the Vulture.  "I put my face out."

"Awww…Well, can I at least see the Fallen Star?  I wanna hold it.  I wanna _see_ it."

The Vulture made a face that was halfway a wince and halfway a pained smile.  "Okay, but just for a little while.  And you know the rules.  No blowing up the lab _or_ the base."

"Awwww…"

The Vulture set down his notes and crossed the lab to a huge steel door.  Barry watched him slide a few bolts and turn a wheel, and winced as the sound of shrieking metal filled the room.  The door ground against the stone floor as it slid open.

"Wheeeeee!"  And Lup came sailing out of the darkness, bolting straight to a small worktable on the other side of the room.  She whipped away a black cloth, and a soft white glow filled the room.  It was the Light of Creation.

Barry blinked.  It was right here.  Just ten feet to his left.

"Ooooh!"  Lup held it up to her face.  "So beautiful…Barry, it's the most beautiful fire ever!  I wanna…I wanna _burn it!_ "  And her hands caught fire, engulfing the Light of Creation.

"Well," said the Vulture, "strictly speaking, we've already determined that setting it on fire doesn't seem to affect it, but if you want to, uh, run additional tests--"

"Burn, burn!" she shrieked, her face cracked in a huge grin.  Barry saw something spark just above one of her ears.

It wasn't Lup.  It wasn't Lup.  He just needed to remember that. 

"Barry!" he hissed, feeling weird addressing himself.  Trying to get his double's attention without drawing the attention of this dangerous not-Lup.  "Barry, I need you to listen to me.  Just a minute, okay?"

The Vulture slipped to his side.  "Yeah, what's up?"

"Look, this is gonna sound weird, but it's super important.  My friends--we need to get the Light of Creation back.  It is _vital_ to saving this world.  We're talking literally stopping the apocalypse from happening."

That piqued the Vulture's interest.  "So you know about this thing?"

"I could tell you all about it, but I swear to whatever gods are out there that I'm telling the truth about how vital it is.  It--it's the reason we've been moving from dimension to dimension.  There's a thing called the Hunger that goes around swallowing planar systems, because it's looking for _that_."  And he tilted his head in the Light's direction.  "And if we get it away in time, the Hunger will follow us instead of eating everyone--"

He heard a gasp of delight at his other side.  "Is that _another Barry?"_ not-Lup squealed.  She leaned over him.  There was a mad gleam in her eyes.  And the shard of a wand sticking out of her temple, its shattered end sputtering sparks.  "Ooh, another Barry to play with!"  She ran one finger along his jawline.  He could feel his face burning, and he wasn't sure if it was because he was blushing or because her body was radiating a shocking amount of heat.  Possibly both?

"You can't set this one on fire, Lup," said the Vulture.  "I need him alive."

She pouted.

"All right," said the Vulture, putting his hands on her shoulders and gently guiding her away.  "I have a pile of scavenged stuff over there you can safely burn.  Why don't you, ah, run some tests, okay sweetie?  And make sure the smoke goes out the ventilation shaft.  Don't want anyone, heh-heh, suffocating to death.  I've already got plenty of corpses.  Don't wanna join them yet."

Not-Lup laughed, and let herself be led to a pile of junk in one corner.  The wand shard continued to spark.  The Vulture smacked his hands together and came back to the work table.

Barry licked his lips.  "What, ah--what happened to her?"

The Vulture appeared to visibly sag.  "Lab accident," he said.  "She wanted to be more powerful.  I mean--who doesn't, right?  But, ah, it didn't go quite as we intended."  He shrugged.

Barry closed his eyes.  "And you haven't been able to fix her.  But you've tried, haven't you?"

"Am I that obvious?"

"It's what I would do."  He winced.  It was strange.  This Barry could be so horrifically different from him, and yet--maybe not that different after all.  And that thought terrified him.  "Look, couldn't you just . . . be a buddy and let me out of here?  I'll take the Light of Creation, and my friends and I will save this world and stay out of your hair.  You can just tell your boss I escaped.  And you can go right on doing your creepy corpse experiments."

The Vulture snorted.  "You kidding?  And pass up this chance?  Buddy, I _need_ you.  I mean, how often does a scientist get to do stuff with his own clone?"

Barry swallowed.  "What--what kinda stuff are you gonna do to me?"

"Well, I mean strictly speaking, I could do all sorts of stuff to you."  The Vulture picked up his notebook and started flipping through pages.  "Test runs, you know.  I've got ideas.  Enhancements and stuff.  I can experiment on you first, see what happens before trying to do them on myself."  He looked up and smiled, holding out one hand.  "I was thinking, what if I had a cool vulture's talon for one arm?  That'd be real badass, let me tell you."

Barry felt his fear rise up like a bird caught in his throat.  He thought he was going to be sick.  "Wait, wait!"  He tried to sit up, but then remembered the restraints and sagged back to the table.  "I mean…think about this.  You're testing these things on me because there's a chance they won't work and I might die, right?"

"Well, heh-heh, yeah there's an outside chance."  The Vulture adjusted his glasses.  "Scientific experimentation always carries risks.  You're a scientist like me, right?  You know this."

Barry's brain churned furiously.  "Well, what if I offer you this.  Instead of using me as--as a guinea pig or whatever, I become your, your partner.  You couldn't figure out how to help Lup, but maybe, maybe if we put our heads together--I mean, not literally, but, with two of us working on it, maybe we can figure out how to help her.  Help her, you know, keep her extra power boost but not be insane anymore?  Like, you wouldn't have to keep her in a cell.  She could be your lab partner again." 

The Vulture pursed his lips.  He glanced up at Lup, who was melting a red-hot iron bar, then back at Barry.

Barry clenched his fists.  He was betting on his doppleganger choosing Lup over the scientific possibilities of clone experimentation.  He knew what he would choose, of course.  In a heartbeat.  But this other Barry wasn't the same as him.  He made different choices.  "Think about it," he added.

The Vulture tapped his fingers nervously on the edge of the table.  He kept looking between Barry and Lup, Lup and Barry.

"All right," he said, after far too long.  "You got yourself a deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, just an FYI that I'm going to be aiming for an update schedule of Sunday and Wednesday. In the meantime, thank you for the comments and kudos!


	3. Follow the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davenport feels the pressure. Magnus helps out. Barry keeps his fingers.

It had been six weeks since the Starblaster Crew had arrived in this Cycle.  And three weeks since Barry had disappeared.  Davenport circled Dead Snake Gully and the surrounding desert endlessly, barely prying himself away from the helm to eat or sleep.  It was all beginning to blur together.  Just stretches of pale sand glaring in the sunlight, broken occasionally by ravines and the occasional odd rock formation.  A line of low, stony mountains crouched in the distance, separating the desert from the coastline and breaking up most of the rainclouds before it could reach them.

Behind the helm, in the common room, Lucretia was poring over all the Raptor ballads they'd acquired, searching for clues, while Lup and Taako scoured the desert map.  In theory, the Raptors had both Barry and the Light in their possession, but what if that theory was wrong?  What if they were wasting time circling the desert for a seemingly invisible raiding band, when Barry could be dead and the Light far away?  How long should they keep trying before attempting another tactic?

Davenport rubbed his face.  He knew it was his job to make these sorts of decisions, but it was times like this when he hated being the one in this position.  He kept circling around in his own head, wondering if he was making the right call or if he'd taken his crew down the wrong path, if he'd made a mistake he couldn't undo.  It was all his responsibility, for better or worse. 

It was all his fault.

He wrested his thoughts away from that dark path.  He was getting tired, and his self-control was slipping.  He'd need to rest soon.  But there was so much to do...

"Hey, Cap'nport," came Magnus's voice at his side. 

He straightened, stifling a yawn.  "Magnus." 

His security officer shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.  "So I was thinking," he said, "it's been a while since I've gotten some practice in at the wheel.  And the weather's pretty stable.  So I thought, maybe I could take over for a little bit?  And you could, um, get some sleep."

Davenport cleared his throat.  "Thank you, Magnus.  I suppose some flight practice wouldn't hurt.  But I'll stand by and see how you're progressing.  Besides, some of these dust storms come up out of nowhere and I might need to take over."

Magnus managed to look even more awkward.  He glanced towards the common room.  "Um, but I really think you might need some sleep," he said, louder and more slowly, as if Davenport hadn't caught the blatant suggestion the first time around.

He frowned.  "Magnus, I am perfectly alert."

"But, um, your tail's dragging?  Like, on the floor.  And Lucretia says that's a sign you're exhausted."

Davenport's fingers clenched the wheel.  He could feel heat climbing up the back of his neck and prickling under his collar.  "She said that?" he asked, irritated at the defensiveness in his voice. 

"Yeah.  And Lup said your ears--"

" _Magnus_."

"Uh.  Yeah, Cap'nport?"

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.  They were just concerned about him.  He knew that.  But gods, he wished they weren't so damn _concerned_ about him.  He wasn't a child that needed to be coddled.  He wasn't _fragile_.

But he was so tired.  He wasn't sure whether he was more annoyed at being fussed over, or the fact that they were right.

He sighed, and stepped away from the wheel.  "All right, Magnus.  Take the wheel.  And I'll--I guess I'll take a nap."

Magnus gave him a thumbs up.  Davenport stood at attention, long enough to make sure Magnus settled in and remembered what he was doing.  And then he headed back to his berth, making sure that he appeared perfectly awake and alert as he passed by Lucretia and Lup.  He could feel their eyes on him.  Watching him for signs of weakness.

Gods, it was just like being back at the IPRE.  And the Academy before that.  And--and everyone watching him, waiting for him to fumble or break or give up because he was just a silly little gnome and who did he even think he was--

He pushed those thoughts away.  His crew wasn't like that at all.  They respected him.  They cared about him.  He _knew_ that.  But still, he never could shake that sour feeling in the pit of his stomach, the pressure of others' gazes on his backside. 

He locked the door to his berth, and allowed himself to breathe.  He didn't even bother taking off his uniform jacket before collapsing slowly into bed.

 

#

 

"Okay," said Barry.  "Okay, if we maybe try to very carefully extract the shard from her brain, while keeping the arcane energy flowing in a stable pattern, we might--"  He scratched the side of his head with a quill tip before remembering it still had a bit of ink on the tip.  "Um, I don't suppose your group has a cleric on staff?  Someone who could try to repair the damaged brain tissue?"

The Vulture looked up from his notes.  He'd been skipping between projects, half his attention on the Light of Creation and the other half on the problem of Lup-with-a-wand-stuck-in-her-brain.  Leaving Barry mostly focused on the latter.  Not that Barry was either a brain surgeon or an arcana expert.  "Yeah, uh, we do.  But he took one look at her and shrugged his shoulders and said there wasn't a point to trying to fix her.  That she was just--just _gone._ "  He shook his head.  "I mean, I think we can fix her.  But I doubt he's gonna help--"

The door to the lab swung open with a bang.  Barry stiffened at the sight of Davenport's double, followed by the hulking form of Magnus's double.  The gnome's piercing gaze flicked first to the Vulture, then to him, then to the Light of Creation, which cast an eerie glow on his eyes.  He nodded to Magnus--to the Condor.

The hulking human crossed the room and gripped Barry by the arm.  "Um--" was all Barry managed to get out, before being dragged across the room and shoved into a chair.  "What's going on?"

Magnus didn't respond.  Magnus didn't even look at him.  His gaze was as dead as ever. 

"Relax," said not-Davenport, his smile like a knife pulled halfway out of its sheath.  "It's just interrogation time."  He turned to a chalkboard covered in arcane equations and, without even asking the Vulture's permission, wiped half of it away with an eraser.  Then he began drawing something.  "My scouts have brought me back some _very_ interesting intel about your companions." 

He stepped away, revealing a simple but surprisingly accurate sketch of the Starblaster.  Not-Davenport raised an eyebrow at Barry, and lounged in another chair across from him.  "We haven't been formally introduced.  I don't normally come down into the Vulture's little cesspool unless I have to.  I'm called the Red Falcon, and I'm the head of this little operation.  You will address me as 'sir.'  Is that clear?"

"Uh, y-yes, sir," he said.  The Red Falcon's whole body seemed relaxed, almost like he was melting in his chair.  But Barry had seen how fast he could switch gears.

The Red Falcon smirked.  "Fast learner.  Good."  He pulled a vicious-looking dagger from a sheath at his hip, and pointed it at Barry.  "So, this is how it's going to work.  I'm going to ask you a series of questions, and you will answer them quickly and truthfully.  If you waste my time, if you dissemble, if you try to avoid the question or if I catch you in a lie, I will cut off one of your fingers.  If you run out of fingers, I will start on your toes, and then proceed to teeth, et cetera."  He waved the dagger.  "But hopefully it won't come to that.  Do I make myself clear?"

Barry swallowed.  His hands were slick with sweat.  "Y-yes, sir."

"All right.  Let's get started.  What's the name of your ship?"

"T-the St-starblaster.  Sir."

"And did you, in fact, come from another dimension, as you told the Vulture?"

"Y-yes."  He glanced at the Vulture, who stood back, watching but not interfering.  Of course the Vulture would have told his leader everything Barry had told him.

"Why?"

Barry bit his lip.  He couldn't tear his eyes away from the dagger.  "It--it was an accident?" he said.  "The ship was designed to travel between planes, not dimensions.  We--we never intended to leave our own planar system.  But—but when the Hunger came to our home world, something happened when we reached the edge of our system.  We somehow broke through the dimensional barrier.  And we've been hopping dimensions ever since." 

The Falcon was not so relaxed now.  He was leaning forward, watching Barry with an almost hungry gaze.  "How?"

"I'm n-not sure, not really.  We can only do it when the Hunger arrives.  I—I have a theory, that its arrival alters the fundamental nature of space at the far edges of the planar system.  But it's, ah, just a theory. "

The Falcon nodded.  Barry realized with a start that he was following along.  Despite his violent outbursts, this not-Davenport was just as curious, possibly just as intelligent as the captain he knew.  The Starblaster crew had run into more than their share of petty tyrants in their time, most of whom blew off anything they didn't understand.  But not this one.

The Falcon sat back.  "The Hunger.  That's what's been hunting this so-called Light of Creation?" 

"Y-yes, sir."

"And what is the Hunger, exactly?"

Barry licked his lips.  "I—um, I don't know."

The Falcon's eyes narrowed.  "Condor, hold down his hand."  He stood, flicking his knife in one hand.

"I swear I don't know!"  Barry nearly choked out the words as the Condor pinned his hand against the arm of the chair.  "We've been trying to figure it out, but all we know is it's some kind of plane that's, like, intelligent and uh—oh gods, please don't cut off my fingers, Capt—I mean, Davenport—I mean, I swear I don't know—!"

The Falcon's face contorted.  He closed the distance between them in an instant, and pressed his dagger against Barry's throat.  "Who told you my name?" he spat.  "Who told you my _fucking name?!_ "

"What?  Nobody—nobody told me your—"

_"Who told you?!"_

"It's the name of my captain!" Barry cried.  "My captain looks exactly like you!"

The Falcon's eyes widened.  "I have a double?"  He asked the question very quietly.  He withdrew the knife, and looked between Barry and the Vulture.

"Y-yes.  I mean, he's a gnome named Davenport who looks exactly like you.  But you two are—well, your personalities are very different." 

The Falcon stepped back, rubbing his chin in the same way Davenport did.  He nodded to the Condor, who stepped back as well, and Barry breathed a sigh of relief.  He still had all his fingers.

"And are there other doubles of my gang on your crew?"

"Well, I—uh, I haven't really met your whole gang, so I can't be really sure, but—"  His gaze slipped, involuntarily, towards Magnus.  The Falcon noticed.

"How many people are on your crew?" he snapped.

"Uh, s-seven, including me."

"Name them."

"Uh, well there's me, my name is Barry Bluejeans.  And Captain Davenport.  And—and Magnus.  T-taako.  Merle.  Lucretia.  And . . ."  He looked down at his knees.  "And Lup."

The Vulture straightened, like an electric current had just been run through his body.  "You—you have another Lup?" he asked.

The Falcon threw back his head and laughed.  "Your crew!" he cried, a big grin on his face.  "Your crew are all doubles of me and my six lieutenants?"  He bent over, slapping his knee. 

Barry shuddered.  So they all had doubles.  Somewhere, in this base, there were shadows of Taako, Merle, and Lucretia.  How had this terrible world altered them?  Were they just as mad as everyone else in this place?

The Falcon wiped a tear from his eye and dropped back into his chair.  "Wow," he said.  "Wow.  I haven't been this tickled in a long time.  The idea!  Another me!  But different, you say?"

"Uh, y-yeah."

"How so?  What's this other me like?"  He jabbed the dagger almost playfully in Barry's direction.  "Must not be much of a leader if he lets his crew get away with being this damn soft."

Barry blushed.  "He's a great leader," he said.  "He's very, um, self-controlled.  Smart.  Kinda reserved?  But—but he cares about us a lot.  You just gotta, gotta learn how to read him."

The Falcon grinned.  "Oh, that's _very_ different.  I don't let anybody read me."  He pointed the tip of his dagger towards his own ear-nubs.  "Letting people read you is just _asking_ for trouble.  He must put you in a lot of needless danger, being that transparent."

"Well…I mean, our mission is dangerous regardless.  But he's—he's a great captain.  I've worked with him for—for eighteen years now.  He does whatever it takes to try to protect his crew and get the Light so we can save whatever planar system we find ourselves in."

The Falcon's grin faded, and his gaze slid towards the softly glowing Light of Creation.  "The Light, the Light.  It all comes back to the Light, doesn't it?"  There was that disturbing, hungry look in his eyes again.

Abruptly he sat up, and pointed his dagger at the chalk drawing of the Starblaster.  "Tell me about this engine.  How does it work?"

"That's the bond engine.  It, uh, runs on bond energy.  Something we discovered when the Light came to our home world."

"Bond energy?  Explain."

"It, uh—well, it explains everything."  He tried reaching back to that speech Davenport had once given to the audience at the IPRE press conference.  A year of advanced research boiled down for an audience of laymen.  They'd used similar speeches on other worlds, when people had inquired about it.  "Anything in the universe is connected to anything else by bond energy.  Magnetism, atomic bonds, even—even emotions.  Empathy.  It's—it's a friend ship."  He winced.  He couldn't believe he'd fallen back on the stupid pun Magnus had come up with one day.

The Falcon raised an eyebrow.  "Emotions," he said flatly.  "Your ship is run on emotions?"

"Well—I mean, emotions are just one form of bond energy.  But the engine can pull energy from any sort of bonds."

"What about negative emotions?  Fear?  Hatred?"  He tilted his head.  There was a different disturbing look in his eyes now, like he was looking at something far away.  "Are those a form of bond?  Could you power a ship on those?"

"Well, uh, negative emotional bonds, we found, were much more unstable as a source.  I mean, yes they are a bond, but much more fragile than, say, love.  Affection.  Empathy."

The Falcon wasn't looking at him anymore.  "Unstable," he muttered, as if he were talking to himself.  "So, you'd need a constantly renewable source.  You'd get an initial spike but you'd have to keep feeding it, managing it..."

Barry glanced at the Vulture, but his own double was just scratching down notes.

The Falcon shivered, and seemed to pull himself back to the present with some effort.  "And how does the bond engine work, exactly?"  He looked at Barry.  "Could you draw me a blueprint?  Could you...could you make one?"

"No, I'm a—more a theoretical planar physicist," he blurted out.  The look in the Falcon's eyes was terrifying.  "I know about bond energy but not, not how to apply it mechanically.  That's—that's Davenport's job, not mine."

"Your captain?  He's your engineer?"

"Bond engineer, yeah.  He was on the team that designed and built the engine.  I don't know a thing about that, that sort of stuff.  Sorry."

The Falcon stood.  He paced back and forth in front of the chalkboard, his eyes never leaving the sketch of the Starblaster with the hovering ring of the bond engine at its stern.

"Vulture?"

"Y-yes, sir?"

"I want a full report on what you've discovered so far about the Light.  This project now has full priority.  For both of you.  We can worry later about your little . . ."  He sneered.  " _Pet_ project."  He glanced pointedly at the steel door that concealed Lup.

"Y-yes sir!"

"Condor, let's go."  And the Red Falcon strode to the lab door, not even looking at Barry anymore.    Eyes fixed on something Barry couldn't see.  The door slammed behind them.

"Well," said the Vulture.  "At least you kept all your fingers.  That was lucky."  He glanced one last time at the steel door and sighed, before waving his notebook in the direction of the Light.  "Well, back to work, I guess."


	4. Taako 2: The Sequel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taako gets another twin. Lup sticks close. Magnus and Merle speak their minds.

"Hey Cap, I think I got something."  Taako handed the spyglass off to Davenport and pointed at the top of a nearby bluff.  "Something's moving out there."

Davenport swung the spyglass slowly in that direction and then stopped.  "Yeah, I see it."

Taako squinted towards the bluff that crouched in the distance like a sleeping giant, black against the deep blue night sky.  With his elven vision, he was able to pick out the shadowy figure on the ridge even without the spyglass, but it was so far away that it was little more than a black speck faintly outlined by moonlight.  But with the spyglass, he'd been able to make out a humanoid figure in a dark cloak.

"One of the Raptor gang?" Davenport muttered to himself.  "A scout, maybe."

"Yeah, I can go check it out for ya?  It's just one dude."

Davenport lowered the spyglass.  "'One dude' whose abilities we don't know," he said.  "You're not going without backup."

"I'll go," said Lup, emerging from the door of the helm.  She was sliding her red cloak over the tanktop she'd been wearing in the hot climate.  "I'm not losing you, too, to these assholes."

"Be cautious," said the captain.  "Use a defensive approach.  Don't break out the combat spells unless they turn confrontational.  It could be one of the Raptor gang or it could be a random traveler."

"This deep in Raptor territory?  Unlikely."  At Davenport's irritated look, Taako shrugged.  "Okay, cha'boi's got it covered.  No blowing shit up unless they try to blow shit up first.  Ready, Lulu?"

"Yeah!  Let's go avoid blowing shit up."  She winked, and Taako grinned.  Power Twin Time.

A bit of Invisibility coupled with a dash of Flight brought them to the top of the bluff pretty quickly.  The figure in the dark cloak hadn't moved from their spot.  They were facing the desert below them, turning their head back and forth slowly as if looking for something.  A few of the local nocturnal fliers, rather like bats but with one big central eye, fluttered around him.  Taako had seen those critters flying back and forth at night, probably hunting insects, but they hadn't bothered the crew so he'd ignored them.

Now one of the eye-bats landed in the figure's outstretched hand.  And Taako could see, close up, that its eye wasn't an actual eye but a single large crystal.  The figure uttered a command word and the crystal began to project a hovering illusion.

It was an image of the Starblaster, with three figures standing on the deck.  Two of the figures dropped off the deck and vanished.

Well.  That was fucked up.  Guess those eye-bats needed to become target practice now.

The figure reached into their cloak, and spun to face them, pulling out their wand.

"Evard's Black Tentacles!" Taako shouted, realizing as he did so that this asshole was yelling the exact same thing.  And then black tentacles erupted around both of them, yanking them up off the ground.

But he had the advantage, because unlike this thug, Taako wasn't alone.  Lup slipped around the tentacles and cast Magic Missile—classic—knocking the scout's wand out of their hand.

"Well, shit," came a voice as the scout's hood fell back, revealing an elven face wearing Spectacles of True Seeing.  It was a shockingly familiar and handsome face.  "This sucks."

Taako was looking at another Taako.  Not his sister, but an actual second Taako.  Taako 2: The Sequel.  "What the fuck?"

The other Taako looked just as surprised.  "Huh.  Well, this is different."

"Or really fuckin' similar," said Taako. 

"Geez," said Lup, with a smirk, "and I thought one brother was bad enough."  With a flick of her wrist, she incinerated the tentacles holding her actual brother, leaving the duplicate hanging.  Original Taako slid to the ground, taking deep breaths.  Those tentacles might have bruised his ribs.

"So," he said to Taako 2.  "You wanna tell us what's going on?"

"I think I'm the one who needs a, a fuckin' explanation," said Taako 2. 

"Lemme break it down for ya.  I'm Taako, you know, from another dimension?"

Taako 2 raised an eyebrow.  "Uh-huh.  You're me from another dimension."

"That's the score, yep.  And why are you spying on our ship?"

Taako 2 snorted.  "I couldn't give a rat's ass about your ship.  But I needed to make sure you're not here to, like, wreck my shit, so here I fuckin' am.  Starring in tentacle porn, I guess."

Taako glanced at Lup, a silent question.  She tilted her head in that way that meant, _It's your call._

He sighed.  "Listen, you—you're Taako, too, right?"

"Yeah, that's me, hon.  I'm Taako, you know, from this dimension."

"So, we kinda got off on the wrong foot.  But we don't wanna hurt you.  And we're not here to like, wreck your shit.  But you might be able to help us out, since we're kinda looking for somebody, and you've got all these creepy-ass spy-bats flying around.  So, like, you wanna come back to our ship and we can talk things over?"

Taako 2 snorted.  "Taako doesn't help nobody, my man.  I'm a solo act."

Taako could feel Lulu wince next to him.  He bit his lip.  There was something definitely off about this version of him.  That cold, detached expression was getting under his skin. 

Still, he was the best lead they'd had in weeks.  The only lead they'd had in weeks.  He tried another tactic.  "Well, I dunno what the local cuisine is like," he said, "but I was planning to make a nice chicken marsala for dinner tonight.  You could, uh, join us for dinner, and we can talk things over and, like, swap recipes?"

Taako 2 snorted.  "Sure, yeah.  Get me out of this tent porn of yours and I can give you the culinary scoop."

Taako flicked his wand and dismissed the tentacles.  They vanished back into the ground, and Taako 2 dropped lightly to his feet.

"Well."  Taako glanced at the edge of the bluff.  "You got Feather Fall?"

"Hell yeah I got Feather Fall.  Do I look like a chump to you?"

"Nah, man, you look on point."

"Thanks, man.  You ain't so bad yourself."

Taako smirked.  But Lup was cold and silent at his side, so he had to ask.  "So, uh, quick question before we take off.  Um, so this is my twin sister, Lup.  And I was thinking, since you're, like, Taako from this dimension…you got a Lup, too?"

Taako 2 glanced at Lup, and his gaze was cold and flat.  "Not anymore," he said, and turned and stepped off the cliff.

 

#

 

Not gonna lie, but Taako was more than a little delighted at the astonished looks the rest of the crew gave him when he came back with a Taako duplicate.  This whole Taako-without-Lup thing unsettled him, but he didn't let that show.  If Lup wanted to talk about it later, they'd wait till they had a private moment.  But in public, especially in front of Taako 2, Taako kept that shit on lockdown.

So he threw together a chicken marsala, Lup at his side, and if she brushed against him more than was usual, kept the distance between them shrunk down to almost nothing, well, he didn't point it out.  Taako 2 flipped through their recipe notebooks while the rest of the Starblaster crew tried to sneak glances into the kitchen without being noticed.  Taako had insisted on them holding off on giving this guy the third degree until they were all around the table eating.  Make it all homey and inviting.  Because this Taako 2 was defensive as shit—even more than Taako himself.

Taako didn't let it show how unsettling it was when his double took Barry's seat.

"So, Taako."  Davenport cleared his throat.  "I'm sure the twins have already said this, but we, ah, come in peace."

He shrugged.  "Yeah, I get that.  This doesn't exactly look like a ship built for blowing shit up."  He glanced casually around the kitchen/dining room, which after 17 cycles had been thoroughly domesticated with group photos, Lup's profanity-laced cross stitch samplers, hanging pots of kitchen herbs donated by Merle, and vines and flowers painted on the walls by Lucretia.

Davenport nodded.  "We're scientists and explorers," he said.  "We can defend ourselves if necessary but that isn't our primary mission.  Taako says, um, that you've been scouting—"

"Sorry to interrupt, Cap, but uh," and Taako tilted his head at his double, "this is gonna get real confusing if you just call both of us Taako."  He looked at Taako 2.  "Can we, uh, give you a nickname or something?  Taako 2: the Sequel?"

Taako 2 snorted.  "Yeah, I don't usually go by Taako anymore, anyway."  He shifted his cloak and showed off a tattoo left bare by his off-the-shoulder blouse.  "I go by Golden Eagle.  You can call me Eagle, for short."

A sudden cold silence fell over the kitchen.  Lucretia's eyes were practically boggling out of her head. 

Shit. 

Davenport was the first to recover, because of course he was.  He cleared his throat, gently but enough to get everyone's attention.  "So you're part of the Raptors?"

"Yeah, that's us."  Taako 2—the Eagle—seemed pleased by the shocked response.  He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest and a casual smile on his face that Taako suddenly wanted to slap away. 

"Wait," said Magnus, opening his big mouth to say whatever he was thinking before Davenport could stop him, "aren't the Raptors, like, an evil murder gang?"

The Eagle raised an eyebrow.  "Hey, man, we're just tryin' to get by.  You seen this world, right?  It's a shithole.  It's fuckin' kill or be killed out there.  Thanks for the shade, though.  Real nice."

Magnus frowned.  His fingers were clenched tight over his fork.  "But the village—"

"Magnus."  Davenport's voice cut firmly through whatever he was about to say.  Turning to the Eagle, he said, "Well, understandably we've heard some…stories.  But that's not what we're here to talk about right now.  We're looking for something, and one of our companions has gone missing during the search.  We have reason to believe that both he and the object we're looking for have fallen into the possession of the Raptors."

The Eagle flicked his ears in that "I'm listening" gesture.

"Our companion is a human scientist named Barry Bluejeans.  Middle-aged, pale skin, dressed in a red robe, white shirt and blue jeans."

The Eagle nodded.  "Yeah, he's with us."

Lup sat upright in her chair, suddenly and desperately alert.  The Eagle raised an eyebrow.  "He's alive and in one piece," he added.

Taako could feel the tension bleed out of most of the crew.  But Lup remained rigid, all her attention fixated on the Eagle.  There'd been a note of irritation in his voice, like the Eagle was secretly pissed that Barry was alive and in one piece.

"That's—that's excellent news."  Davenport gave the Eagle a slight smile of relief.  "And this other object we're looking for, we call it the Light of Creation.  I believe it's locally called the Fallen Star.  It's a small glowing sphere—"

"Yeah, got that too."

Davenport hesitated only briefly before continuing.  "Well, obviously we would love to make arrangements to have our companion returned to us.  But as for the Light of Creation, please understand that I am being perfectly honest when I say that the safety of your world depends on our recovering it."

"Yeah," Merle said, talking around a mouthful of chicken marsala like the heathen he was.  "We need it to stave off the apocalypse."

Davenport winced.  He tended to be just as appalled by Merle's table manners as Taako was.  Davenport ate, as he did everything else, like the class act he was.  "Thank you.  But yes, Merle is correct."

The Eagle shrugged.  "Well, I gotta be honest, my boss isn't the kinda guy who, like, gives things up after he's got his hands on them.  Kinda—kinda defeats the purpose, ya know?"

"Your leader, the Red Falcon, correct?"  At the Eagle's nod, he continued.  "We would, of course, be willing to bargain with him.  Some sort of trade, perhaps?"

"Well, I don't speak for the Falcon.  He'd, like, have my tongue for that.  But yeah, I can ask him if he wants to, like, fuckin' parley with you."

"Thank you, Eagle.  We'd be grateful for that."

"Hell yeah you better be."  He stood, dabbing at his lips with a napkin.  "Thanks for the meal and the recipes.  I'll send you a flyer with his answer."  He took one more long look around the table, as if drinking them all in, his gaze landing finally and lingering longest on the captain.  Then he shrugged his shoulders and left. 

Taako followed him to make sure he got off the ship okay.  To make sure he got off the ship.  To make sure he went away.  He'd've thought meeting another him would've been amazing—double the fuckin' awesome.  But this just left a sour taste in the back of his throat.

"Man," said Merle, "this other Taako's kind of a dick."

"Yeah, our Taako's much cooler!" said Magnus, clapping him on the shoulderblade.

Taako smirked.  "No beating the original, am I right?"

"Damn straight!" 

"You mean damn gay, right?" Lucretia deadpanned.  He snorted.  Always the quiet one till she dropped the bomb. 

He caught Lup's eyes just before she wandered back to their shared bedroom.  Time for a Twin Talk.  Or at least, Twin Sitting-around-quietly-until-one-of-them-is-ready-to-Talk.  He extricated himself from the rest of the crew, citing a long day and spell slot recovery and beauty sleep, and slipped away after his sister.

 

#

 

The next day, a spy-bat landed on the Starblaster's deck railing.  It showed an image of Eagle's bored face.  "You wanna meet with the Red Falcon, arrive today at sunset at this rendesvous point."  The image shifted to reveal a rocky bluff, different than the one from the previous night.  It was marked by a pair of tall stones leaning against each other.  "So, the Red Falcon is willing to speak to Captain Davenport.  You can bring no more than two of your little friends with you.  Not that they'll be able to, ah, do much since you'll have to give up any weapons before coming inside.  That's the rules, so, like, peace out."  The image vanished.

"I'm in," said Lup.  "I'm going in."

"Me too," said Taako, and took her hand.

Davenport nodded.


	5. Raptor Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lup makes a promise she can't keep. Taako gets a new look. Davenport makes a deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, just a heads up that the next couple of chapters get pretty dark. That Graphic Violence tag is there for a reason! And while this particular chapter isn't very bloody, please take this as your content warning for zombies and general squick. If you've been reading along thus far, thank you for the kudos and comments! They really mean a lot to me.

Davenport took the ship down about half a mile away from the bluff.  "Well?" he asked Lup, who was scanning the cliff face.

"Well, that's not what the bluff actually looks like.  The whole thing's hidden behind a massive illusion."

Davenport frowned.  "Probably why we couldn't find it.  They'll likely change what it looks like after we leave.  And the shifting dunes make mapping impossible in this area."  He gripped the railing.  "No wonder the Raptors are impossible to find.  You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be.  Taako?"

"Yeah.  Let's go not blow shit up again, I guess."

Davenport gave one last glance at Magnus, Lucretia, and Merle, who waited uncertainly on deck.  "Keep your eyes open," he said, "and keep each other safe.  If these Raptors are as dangerous as the stories imply, we can't be too careful."

"I don't like this," said Magnus.  "This feels trap-ish."

"I know.  But right now it's our only option."

Magnus nodded, but he looked unhappy.

"Don't worry, big guy," said Lup.  "We'll keep Cap'nport safe, and we'll be back with Barry and the Light before you know it!"

Magnus gave her an uneasy smile.  Davenport nodded, and gave the rest of his crew a brief salute before debarking with the twins.  No need to linger and stretch out their awkward good-byes. 

He'd met with more than his share of petty tyrants over the past 17 cycles.  Always a volatile situation, but he'd always come out in one piece.  He could do this.

They were met in front of the leaning boulders by Eagle and a pair of raiders in crude, mismatched armor.  "You know the rules," he said, holding out his hand.

Both twins handed over their wands.  "We'll be getting those back when this is over, right?" Taako said. 

"Yeah, sure."  He tilted his head at Davenport.  "You got anything, short stuff?"

Davenport's jaw clenched as he handed over his dagger.  Gods, he hated it when locals talked down to him like that.  The Eagle knew he was the captain.  Why would he be so rude to someone coming to negotiate with his boss?

_He's trying to get me off-balance,_ he realized.  _Steady on, Davenport.  Keep your head.  Barry's depending on you.  This world is depending on you, even if they don't know it._

The Eagle turned and led them to a rusting steel door hidden in the shadow of the boulders.  He waved one hand and the door slid open with a screeching of gears.  The two raiders brought up the rear as they entered into a cool, dark tunnel, lit very meagerly by the occasional lantern.

Another trick.  Anybody penetrating the base from outside wouldn't be able to see.  Those on the inside would have the advantage.

They passed several niches carved into the walls, each of which contained another armed guard.  But there was something unsettlingly still about these guards, who stood at perfect attention, hands gripping pikes.  Strange, when the other raiders appeared so…informal and undisciplined.

"Uh, Cap," Lup whispered at his side, "I think we've found the missing townsfolk."

Davenport did a double-take.  The nearest guard stared down at him with blank white eyes in a face as wrinkled and leathery as a mummy's.  And they were all like that, stretching down the tunnel.  Undead.

"Yeah, that's the Vulture's work," Eagle remarked.  "Fewer mouths to feed, you know?  At least the dry air keeps the smell down."

Davenport clenched his fists.    

They walked along the winding tunnel for a long time before he heard the sounds of other people.  It was a whole crowd, talking and laughing, and for a brief moment he felt relief—actual relief—at the sounds of life. 

They emerged into a huge, brightly-lit cavern.  It was a central meeting hall of some kind, and dozens of raiders stood talking or sparring, or sitting at tables and digging in to what looked like a dinner of roast desert fowl and stew.  A rusty iron catwalk ran along the upper reaches of the cavern, and Davenport spotted a pile of old minecarts and some long-disused tracks.  So this had been a mining operation before being reclaimed.

The raiders near the entrance caught sight of the new arrivals and fell quiet.  Slowly, the crowd parted to let the Eagle through.  Davenport glanced at the twins, took a deep breath, straightened his uniform, and followed.

The crowd parted all the way through, revealing a crude throne hammered together from railroad ties and rusty iron bands.  And lounging upon that throne was…

Was him.

Davenport stopped in his tracks.  This was…well. 

The other Davenport—the Red Falcon—turned his head lazily in his direction.  His hair was a mess.  His eyes were cold.  He had no ears.  And he was dressed in some sort of military jacket, stained the color of smoke and ashes.  It was ragged at the hems, hanging open to reveal a crude leather vest.

But it was _him_.

And standing behind his throne, as still as a block of granite, was a blank-faced Magnus.  On his other side, crouched on a stool and scribbling away into a journal, was a gaunt Lucretia.

It was like looking into a cracked mirror.

The Eagle waved them forward and stepped back into the crowd, who was watching Davenport and the twins in hostile silence.

"Weeelll . . ." the Red Falcon drawled.  "Isn't this interesting?"

Davenport cleared his throat and took a few steps forward.  "Greetings," he said.  "My name is Captain Davenport of the Institute of Planar Research and—"

The Red Falcon guffawed.  "Oh my gods!  Listen to him!"  He slapped his forehead.  "Hey Eagle, you weren't kidding when you told me about this guy.  What a fucking square!"  He sat up in his chair, leaning forward with a mad grin.  "The hair, the posture, the uniform--!  Tell me, do you take that thing off when you steam-press it?"

Scattered laughter sounded from the crowd.  Davenport stiffened.  "The resemblance is remarkable—"

"Clearly I'm the better model."

Davenport heard Lup and Taako shift behind him.  Ready for a fight.  He held up a hand.  "It's all right," he said, glancing back only long enough to meet both their eyes.  Turning back to his double, he said, "Red Falcon, we are interdimensional travelers on a mission vital to saving this world.  While this is all a surprising coincidence, we are clearly two different people.  But that is no reason why we can't come to some sort of understanding.  I'm sure you don't want this world to end, and we are determined to make sure that doesn't happen." 

The Red Falcon rolled his eyes.  "Not the stupidest story I've ever heard, but go on.  I'm bored, and I could use a good laugh."

Davenport frowned.  He'd heard this refrain from the mouths of far too many petty tyrants.  Too stupid to care, too small-minded to think about anything beyond themselves.  It was strange that this one had his face, but this wasn't him. 

"All we ask," he said, keeping his voice even, "is that you return our companion and the Fallen Star over to us, and we will offer you fair compensation for your troubles."

"And you'll use the Fallen Star to save the world," said the Red Falcon, raising an eyebrow.  His voice dripped with scorn and disbelief.  "Because you're some sort of brave heroes from another dimension."

Someone in the crowd laughed.

The Red Falcon sat bolt upright and flung a dagger in the direction of the sound.  It cut off with a sharp gargle.  "I'm _talking!"_ he screamed.

"Captain," Lup whispered behind him, in a warning tone.  The tension in the room was starting to turn ugly.

He shook his head.  He could salvage this.  "Steady on," he murmured to her. 

She nodded grimly and stepped back.

The Red Falcon smirked.  "You jumped," he said.  He leaned forward, elbows on knees.  "I see where you keep looking, Captain.  But you can't read me, can you?"  He pointed to where his ears should be sticking out of his hair.  He turned his head just a little, enough for Davenport to see the nubs that were no longer than an inch or so.  "Sliced 'em off myself, just so people couldn't read me.  Bet you wish you'd done the same before coming in here, huh?"  He got to his feet.  "Your face says you're a stone-cold badass," he said, eyes narrowing.  "But your ears are telling me you're scared shitless."

Davenport's hands went to his ears before he could even think to stop himself.  A roar of laughter rose up from the gathered raiders.  He could feel his tail lashing too.  Shit.  _Shit_.

He dropped his hands.  "Look, we just want the opportunity to bargain—"

"I'm bored," said the Red Falcon, waving one hand lazily.  "Condor, hold him down.  His tongue is coming out."

"What?!"

Several things happened at once.  The other Magnus lumbered towards him.  The crowd roared and whooped and shifted, like a tidal wave about to come down on them.  Taako and Lup both raised their hands to start casting, but Taako's voice cut off in a strangled cry and Lup screamed.

Davenport turned.  Lup was staring at Taako in horror.  Where her brother had stood was a solid gold Taako statue.

Golden Eagle stood behind him, and shrugged.  "I was gettin' tired of the competition," he said.  He leaned his wand casually against Taako's golden head in silent warning.

And then Magnus's hands were on Davenport's shoulders, forcing him down to his knees.  "What?" he repeated, throat dry.

The Red Falcon gestured to one of the raiders, who pulled out what appeared to be a pair of iron tongs.  "I said, your tongue is coming out," he said slowly, as if talking to a child.  "Come on, I didn't think there was that much of a language barrier here!  Though," and he snickered, drawing out a wicked-looking dagger, "there will be, soon enough."

Hot panic raced through Davenport's veins.  "Wait!  Wait, let's talk about this.  I have a--a better deal for you!"

The Red Falcon regarded him.  "It had better be a pretty amazing deal.  My men are real excited about the idea of someone losing a tongue, and I wouldn't want them to miss out on some choice entertainment."  He tapped the flat of his dagger against his cheek.  "Hell, for the price of your tongue, I might even let one of your crew walk out of here alive."

Davenport gritted his teeth.  His heart was pounding in his chest so hard he thought it might burst.  This double of his was a psychopath.  Unstable.  Davenport had one shot to get this guy's attention and hold it.  But with the right redirection, a little bit of illusion magic…"All right," he said, "you want entertainment?  Here's my offer.  You let all my crew walk out of here, including Barry, safe and unharmed and with the Light of Creation.  And I--"  He glared at his double, who had sliced off his own ears just to give himself a tactical advantage.  "And I will cut out my tongue for you myself."

He winced at the roar from the crowd, at Lup's cry of "What the hell, captain?"  But he kept his eyes on the Red Falcon, holding his gaze as steady as he could.  "Do we have a deal?"

The Red Falcon held up a hand.  Silence descended in the cavern.  He circled Davenport once, slowly, saying nothing, then leaned down close to his ear.  "Scared.  Shitless," he whispered, so only Davenport could hear.  He was grinning. 

Davenport willed his ears to stop trembling.  It didn't work.

The Red Falcon ran one fingertip along Davenport's left ear.  "You're so blatantly obvious.  Does your crew know how to read you?"  He waited, breath held, as if he expected an answer.  Behind him, other-Lucretia had set down her quill and was staring at both of them.  The only sound Davenport could hear in the cavern was his own breathing, and the beating of blood in his veins.

The Red Falcon straightened.  "All right," he said, raising his voice to carry.  "If you cut out your own tongue, in full view of everyone here--we'll even call in the patrols, make a big production out of it--" and he paused, letting the appreciative roar from the crowd wash over him, "your crew will walk out of here with the Light of Creation, and they can do with it whatever their noble little hearts desire."  If possible, the Falcon's grin stretched wider.  "Your crew will leave.  But you will stay.  Call it an insurance policy, so your crew doesn't give me any trouble.  That's my offer."

"Captain, don't do it!"  Lup's voice sounded so far away.  "We'll figure something else out!"

"I accept," said Davenport.

The Red Falcon crouched low again, so they were eye to eye.  "I knew you would."

 

#

 

He and Lup were separated and led to different holding cells.  The last Davenport saw of Taako was the Eagle admiring his golden counterpart in the center of the cavern. 

His mind raced, thinking back to the small amount of illusion magic he'd studied back in his childhood.  Illusions came easily to gnomes, but he'd never been that interested in magic and had never applied himself in that direction.  Mechanics was what drew him, physics and aeronautic engineering and the sweet rush of flight.  He recognized magic's potency and its usefulness, but he was a scientist at heart. 

But he still knew a little bit of illusion magic, still pulled it out of his toolkit when necessary.  He knew how to blind an enemy with Light, and had made crude temporary maps more than once.  Not that they'd been very good maps. 

But if he tried, if he really focused, he might be able to pull off a convincing illusion of his own severed tongue.  Throw in a little spurting blood and…he could make it work.  He had to make it work.

He had until midnight to plan.

The raiders threw him into a cold, dark cell.  The bars on one side revealed a long hallway patrolled by undead, overseen by a pair of live guards.

He knelt with his back to them, facing the rear wall.  He took deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.  He needed to practice.  He needed to focus.

Staying behind as the Red Falcon's prisoner was unfortunate.  The illusion wouldn't hold for very long, or upon close examination.  But all he needed to do was keep it up long enough to convince the Red Falcon to hold up his end of the bargain.  Once his crew was safe and the Light was secured, the rest didn't matter.  He'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a compact mirror.  Some small part of himself still recognized the vanity of carrying around a mirror so he could periodically check his hair.  But it had quickly proven to be one of his more useful tools over the course of the Mission.  He'd been able to make sure he was presentable before appearing in front of authority figures; he'd used it to peer around corners and signal his crew from a distance with flashes of light.

And now, he used it to examine his tongue.  He held one hand loosely in his lap, out of view of the guards, and summoned an illusory replica.  Shaped it, shifted the colors, tried to get it as close to life as possible.

He could make this work.


	6. Tongue Tied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davenport puts on a show. Lup lets loose. Barry makes the call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi faithful readers, this is just a content warning that this chapter gets a bit bloody and squicky. I do use discretion shots so nothing too graphic is seen "on camera," but there is blood and bodily injury. Take care of yourselves. I love you, and thanks for reading!

Lup seethed in her cell, pacing back and forth like a caged lion.  She wanted to blast open these bars and lay waste to the whole Raptor crew, especially that psychopath Fake Davenport and that awful Fake Taako who had the nerve to share her brother's face. 

But she didn't know where Barry was.  Or the real Davenport.  Or the Light of Creation.  And Taako, in his current state…Gold was so damn soft a metal.  So easily damaged.

She'd kill a bunch of these assholes, sure, but her spell slots wouldn't last forever and she might risk losing everyone she came here to protect or rescue.  She might get taken down and achieve nothing for her efforts.

So she stayed put, seething.

The guards left her alone.  At one point she became aware of a dark cloaked figure standing in the hallway not far from the cell door, and for a moment she thought the figure had Barry's build, and her heart pounded.  But when she looked through the bars and called, "Barry, is that you?" the figure just stood there, in silence.

Not Barry, then.  Just another one of these asshole Raptors.  She frowned and crossed her arms.  "Are you just gonna stand there and stare like a creep, or do I have to waste a spell slot on you?"

The figure chuckled softly, and again her heart said _Barry._   And then the figure turned and walked away.

What the hell?

Eventually, midnight rolled around.  It was the Eagle who came to escort her to the "Main Event," as he called it.

Lup grimaced.  "You better give me my Taako back when this is over," she growled.

The Eagle shrugged.  "Hey, if your captain holds up his end of the deal, and the boss says you all go free, you'll all go free.  But unless or until that happens, he's my fuckin' hat rack." 

She wanted to rip this smug Fake Taako in half. 

But she couldn't.  The rest of this was up to Davenport.  She hoped her captain had a plan for this.  His illusions were shitty at best, but he was pretty clever at getting himself out of scrapes when brute force and sheer arcane power wouldn't work.  He could be a tricky little bastard when the situation called for it.  And this situation definitely called for it.

They came to the main cavern, which was packed even more tightly with Raptors.  The whole gang looked to be almost a hundred raiders.  She scanned the room.  Most of them looked like straight-up fighters and barbarians, with a decent mix of weaselly rogues thrown in for good measure.  She wasn't getting much in the way of arcane vibes, though.  Looks like the Red Falcon was a brute-force kinda guy.  Or maybe he didn't like having too many nerds around.

And there was Fake Lucretia and Fake Magnus, flanking Fake Davenport on his crazy cobbled-together throne.  And there was her brother, who'd been moved off to one side next to...

Barry.  Barry was here. 

He was looking pale and a bit more underslept than normal, and his white shirt and blue jeans were covered in miscellaneous dirt and grime.  A gag covered his mouth, and his hands were tied behind his back.  But he was alive and didn't look obviously injured.  Nothing a hot shower, a good meal, and a nice long sleep couldn't fix.

His eyes met hers.  He looked like he was trying to say something.  He tilted his head to the figure next to him, who was gripping him by the upper arm.

It was the dark-cloaked figure who'd been creeping outside her cell.  His hood still obscured his face, but he was wearing a distinctive pair of blue jeans.

Well.  That figures.

That was five dopplegangers confirmed.  Her own double was, apparently, gone—whatever that meant.  But she wondered idly if this band of psychopaths also had their own Merle.  What would that even look like?  Would he be beardless and goth?  Or incredibly straight-laced and suited up, like a little undertaker?

The Fake Barry turned to look at her, and her first thought was, _That beard is a travesty._   Her second thought was, _Oh my gods, is he blushing?_

Fake Barry smiled at her.  "It's, uh, nice to see you again."

Both she and Barry looked at him like he'd grown a second head.  "Wrong Lup," she said.

Fake Barry seemed to visibly wither under her gaze.  He sighed.  "I know..."

Gods, he looked like a disappointed puppy.  She'd almost feel bad for him because he looked so much like Barry it made her heart twist.  And this was a world where Lup had been lost, which had obviously fucked up at least two people.  But then she reminded herself very firmly that the Vulture was part of an evil murder gang, and was the sort of guy who liked standing around in the dark and watching her like a creep.

The crowd whooped and roared as Davenport appeared, flanked by a pair of the burliest raiders she'd seen so far.  He looked a little pale but his face was resolute.  He was led to the center of the room where a small platform had been set up.  Waiting on the platform for him was a pair of iron tongs and a dagger.

"I had it sharpened just for you," said the Red Falcon, with that asshole smirk of his.  "Because I'm nice like that."

But all Davenport said in response was, "Don't forget your end of the bargain."

The Red Falcon waved a hand.  Lup was shoved forward next to Barry.  The Eagle sighed and cast a Levitate spell, bringing the gold Taako statue over to her other side.  Then he reached into his cloak, and produced the Light of Creation.

"Your crew," said the Red Falcon.  "And the Fallen Star, as promised.  But you go first."

Barry was trying to say something through the gag, but nothing intelligible came out.  He was shaking his head.  One of the raiders slapped him on the back, and he fell silent.  His eyes were wide and he was sweating like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Davenport took a deep breath.  Lup could see his ears shivering.  But he picked up the tongs and the knife, and glanced once at her.

She readied herself.  If he was going to pull off some weird trick, she'd need to be ready to react.

The crowd was whipping itself up, egging him on and pumping their fists in the air.  He took another deep breath.  The Red Falcon leaned forward on his throne.  Davenport opened the tongs and clamped them down on his tongue.  Lup clenched her fists.  He raised the knife, looked like he was taking aim—

"Quillbird," said the Red Falcon.

Fake Lucretia waved one hand.   _"Dispel Magic."_

The illusion surrounding Davenport folded in on itself.  He was holding the tongs, and the knife, but his mouth was closed and his tongue was safely inside it.  His eyes went wide.  A scattering of laughter and oooh's rose from the crowd.

"Tsk, tsk, Captain."  The Red Falcon wagged a finger in his direction.  "No cheating!  You want your crew to leave with the Light, your tongue has to come out first.  And I _will_ check."

Davenport's head swiveled in her direction.  And for the first time, Lup saw naked fear on her captain's face.  She moved to take a step forward, but he shook his head.

She felt a wand pressed into the small of her back.  "No funny business," the Eagle whispered into her ear. 

She bit her lip.  She'd tear these motherfuckers to pieces, the moment she had her chance.

The fear was gone from her captain's face, replaced by stony resolve.  She saw his gaze flicker between her, Taako, Barry, and the Light.  She could practically see the grim calculation he was making.

_No,_ she thought, _don't you fucking dare…_

Davenport took a deep breath.  "Lup, Barry--"

"Quillbird," said the Red Falcon.

_"Zone of Silence."_  

Davenport's mouth kept moving but no sound came out.  He glanced at Fake Lucretia, who was staring back at him, her expression intense and unreadable.  He turned back to Lup and spoke again, exaggerating his mouth so she could read his lips.

_Don't look._

"Captain, don't!" she shouted over the crowd.  But inside the Zone of Silence, Davenport didn't hear her.  He didn't even look at her anymore.  He was lifting the knife and the tongs, moving quickly this time, as if he didn't want to give himself any more time to think.

She shut her eyes.

She didn't hear the knife come down.  But the Zone of Silence collapsed a moment later, and Lup heard Davenport's strangled, pained cry before it was swallowed up by the roar and applause of the Raptors.  She looked, and saw him on his knees on the platform, a small stream of blood pouring out of his mouth.  His eyes were wide in shock.  The Red Falcon was laughing his head off.

"All right, all right!"  The Red Falcon collected himself and waved a hand, still grinning.  "Dark Owl?  Get your slow dwarven ass out here and heal this guy up before he bleeds out."

And there was Merle, waddling towards the platform.  He was dressed in black and silver robes, and sighing like this was the last thing he wanted to be doing.  A dark leather eyepatch covered one eye.  "Yeah, yeah," he said, climbing up onto the platform.  He set a hand on Davenport's shoulder.  "Lean forward, there you go.  Don't want you choking on your own blood.  Now open your mouth and let me take a look."

Davenport moved mechanically, staring dead ahead of him like he wasn't seeing anything.  A low, pained whine escaped his throat, and blood burbled on his lips. 

Fake Merle tsk'ed, and muttered a healing spell.  There was a flash of silver light, and Davenport sagged forward.  "Okay, easy there, the wound should be closed.  Just spit out the extra blood and take a swig of this."  He pulled a flask out of his robes and Davenport grasped at it like a man dying of thirst.  "Careful, it's strong."

Davenport took a swig and started choking.  Fake Merle clapped him on the back.

The Red Falcon snorted.  "Weak."  He clapped his hands on his knees and stood.  "Okay, you held up your end of the bargain.  You've kept my men entertained.  And as I am a gnome of honor…"  He grinned, prompting appreciative whoops and laughter from his gang.  "Your crew will be set free, along with your precious little Light.  And lucky you, you get to stay here with me!  Now doesn't that sound fun?"

Davenport didn't react.  He just stared.  Lup gritted her teeth.  Poor guy was probably in shock. 

But then he turned to her, and with a lot of effort, seemed to focus on her.  He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again, and waved her away.  _Go._

"Well, that's your cue," said the Eagle, shoving her forward.  He waved his wand and Levitated the enchanted Taako to float behind him.  Fake Barry pulled Real Barry along, and they made their way to the exit.  Barry started trying to shout something through his gag, shaking his head, looking wildly at Lup as if to convey…something.  But she had no idea what.

She glanced once more at her captain, trying to say a million things with her look.  _We'll come back for you.  We won't leave you to rot here.  We'll figure this out, I promise._

_We love you._

Davenport nodded. 

And then he was out of sight, and she was in the darkness of the tunnels.

 

#

 

"They should have been back by now," said Magnus.  "It's been hours.  How long does it take to just talk to a guy?"

Lucretia lowered her infrared detector, which she'd been using to keep watch on the entrance to the Raptors' base.  "Negotiations can take a long time, depending.  Remember that cycle with the tree people?  They could take an hour just to introduce themselves."

"Yeah, but these aren't tree people.  They're like us.  I mean, literally in one case, they're us."  Magnus was gripping the deck railing hard.  "And Cap'nport warned us that they could be real dangerous.  What if something happened?"

"If something happened, Lup and Taako would've started blasting the place already.  Also, the guards stationed at the entrance haven't moved.  If trouble started, they probably would've gone inside to help."

"I guess…"  Magnus still sounded uncertain.

Lucretia put the detector to her face again.  "Wait—hold on, I see movement!"   The guards at the entrance parted, and a small handful of figures exited, lit up by the Light of Creation.  "I see the Light!  And one of the Taakos--I think it's the Eagle, he's not wearing red--and Lup, Barry, and some other guy in a black cloak."  She handed the detector to Magnus.  "And…a gold Taako statue?"

"Where's Cap'nport?" he growled under his breath.

They approached close enough that she could make out the figures, illuminated by moonlight.  There was a wave of magic from the one Taako, and the gold statue softened, shifting colors, and became a second, living Taako, who stumbled a bit, disoriented.

The first Taako--the Eagle, most likely--tossed the Light of Creation to Lup and waved her away.  The black-cloaked figure shoved Barry forward.  Lup caught him with her free arm, and Lucretia could see a spark of flame as she cut through the rope binding him. 

Barry yanked the gag from his mouth.  "It's a _fake!_ " he screamed, his voice carrying across the desert stillness.  "They still have the Light!"

" _What_?" Lup cried, the rage in her voice as bright as a flame.  The Light she held in her hands winked out, became a small hard stone that she dropped to the sand.

The Eagle Blinked out.  Taako screamed, holding his fists out in front of him.  The black-cloaked figure raised his arms over his head, and dozens of undead soldiers started pouring out of the cave entrance.

"Holy shit!"  Magnus dropped the detector, which was saved from crashing on the deck only by Lucretia's quick catch.

"What is it?  What's going on?"  Merle hurried out onto the deck. 

"I think shit's going down!" said Lucretia.

"It's a double-cross!" Magnus hissed.  "Oh, they're gonna get a load of ass-kicking for this one!"  He slammed one fist into the open palm of his other hand.  But before he could move from the deck, before any of them could move, a scream like a banshee cut through the night sky.  Another black-cloaked figure came sailing out over the bluff, hands alight with flame.

_"Fire!"_ the figure screamed, sending a bolt of arcane flame towards the ship.  It exploded off the port bow, sending a geyser of sand up into the sky.

 Merle gawked.  "Is that--"

"Lup?!"  Lucretia's jaw dropped open.

Merle quickly threw a divine shield up over the deck, deflecting another blast before it could hit.  "The hell is this?!"

Their own Lup was flinging spells about, trying to push back the hordes of undead that were converging on her.  Barry was bolting towards the ship, and Taako stood as if rooted to the ground, looking around in panic.  The Lup-doppelganger shifted her attention away from the shielded ship and started flinging spells towards the trio, who were painfully exposed.

Merle shouted a holy word, sending a bolt of divine golden light in her direction.  It missed by a long shot, but it split her attention long enough for Lup to slam her with her own Magic Missile.  She shrieked, and the sound was like a knife cutting through the sky.

"Burn, burn!"  She twisted in mid-air, her whole body catching fire.  "You're all gonna _burn!_ "

Barry had reached the ship, huffing up the gangway.  "Start the engine!  They're gonna blast us!"

As if on cue, Taako was thrown off his feet as a trio of Magic Missiles slammed into his shoulder.  Lup shouted something, was yelling at him to help her blast these fuckers, but her words were swallowed up by the groaning horde of undead bearing down on them.  Taako staggered to his feet and started running for the ship.  "Lulu, I can't--I'm sorry!"  He ran oddly, fists hanging down at his sides.  "We need to go!"

Lup sent out one more blast of arcane fire, then turned and ran after him. 

"Barry, what the hell?"  Magnus had grabbed one of the spare guns looted from the Robot Kingdom and was blasting at undead, laying down covering fire for the twins.  "Where's the captain?!"

But all Barry said was, "Just get the twins!  I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, we can't win this fight!" before running into the helm.  A moment later, the bond engine began to turn, gaining speed slowly.

The evil Lup continued to harry the twins, and the undead stumbled forward with surprising speed.  Lucretia watched, helpless.  Magic was still new to her, and the twins were too far away for her weak shield spells to reach.  The evil Lup sent out another trio of magic missiles, smacking the good Lup in the back of the shoulder, sending her flying forward into the sand.  A few of the faster undead lunged after her, grasping at her ankles, trying to pull her back into the horde.  Taako turned to help, but he didn't cast anything, only held up his fists as if he intended to punch the zombies away from her.

A burst of gunfire sent the undead sprawling back and away from her.  "Get on the ship!" Magnus roared.  "I've got ya covered!"

Lup stumbled to her feet and cast another fireball behind her.  Then she grabbed Taako by the elbow and ran.

A few of the undead had reached the gangway.  Merle knocked them away with more divine spells, while Lucretia threw a shield around Lup and Taako the moment they were in range.  As soon as the gangway was clear, Lup shoved her brother up the stairs, stumbling on after him.

"Hold on!"  Lucretia smacked a red button, causing the gangway to lift and scooping the twins up into the ship.

Merle pulled Taako onto the deck.  "Where's Dav?  Taako--"  And he looked down, at the hand gripped in his own.  A strangled cry came out of Taako's throat.

The Starblaster lifted into the air, just as another blast of fire was deflected by the deck's atmospheric shielding and Merle's shield spells.  Evil Lup followed for a moment, throwing fire at them even though it did nothing, as if it were fun target practice for her.  The fire splashed against the layered shields, illuminating the crew's faces over and over again. 

At first nobody moved.  Then Lup punched the deck, letting loose a scream of pure anger that rivaled that of the shadow-Lup.

Taako's fists were clenched permanently closed.  They were solid gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, for those who've stuck around this far, thank you! I know this is a dark story and I appreciate you sticking with me. I can't promise things will be going uphill for our heroes anytime soon, but things will certainly be less bloody for the next few chapters. I have a plan for where this is all going, and I've super enjoyed writing it so far, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it!
> 
> Also, I've built up quite a buffer of chapters at this point so I'm going to be switching to updating three times a week: Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday! So you won't have to wait on these cliffhangers for so long.


	7. Falcon's Ambition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davenport gets to work. Lup takes charge. Barry has theories.

Davenport woke in darkness, the taste of old blood in his mouth.  At first he lay still, exhausted and confused.  But then the memory of the previous day hit him like an iron weight, and he jolted upright.

He was in a cell.  On the other side of the bars, Merle was watching him with an expression of detached sorrow.

"Merle?" he said.  Or tried to say.  But the sound that came out of his ruined mouth was a strained "Muuuh?"

"Just came by to make sure you didn't snuff it in the middle of the night," said the dwarf.  He nodded to a pair of tin bowls on the floor of the cell, just inside the bars.  They'd been slid in through a narrow hatch at the bottom of the door.  "It'll be a diet of broths and soft foods for you from now on," he said.  "But the Eagle's a good cook, so at least it'll taste decent."

Davenport blinked, his half-awake mind still trying to process what he was looking at.  This wasn't the Merle he knew; this one was dressed in black robes, and was missing an eye.  And his expression, far from the easy-going joy that Davenport expected, was lined with despair.

He vaguely remembered this Merle-doppelganger from last night, through a red haze of pain. 

"Well," he said, "better eat up.  Boss wants you to work as soon as you're up and fed.  Best not to keep him waiting."

"Work?" Davenport tried to ask, but all that came out was "Waah?"

This was going to be frustrating.

The Falcon had only said he'd be a prisoner.  What sort of work could he want from him?  It wouldn't make sense to stick Davenport on a raiding party; it would be too risky to let him leave the base.  Would he be stuck in the kitchens, or given hard labor?  If the Falcon wanted him as insurance, it wouldn't be lethally dangerous work.  Davenport would be useless if he was dead.  But it would probably be something humiliating. 

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face.  What the hell had he gotten himself into?

_You saved your crew, and got the Light,_ he reminded himself.  _Everything else is bearable, if you've done those two things._

He got up and picked up the two bowls.  One was full of cool, clear water, and the other contained some sort of porridge.  He brought the water bowl to his lips.

"Go easy on the water," not-Merle suggested.  "You'll get dinner but that's your water ration for the day."

Davenport drank slowly, if only because he needed to figure out how to drink properly when half his tongue was gone.  More of it dribbled out the side of his mouth than he wished. 

The porridge was trickier.  It was thicker than the water, the risk of choking higher.  He had to set the spoon far back in his mouth, over the stub of his tongue.  But spoonful by spoonful, he managed.

He wanted so desperately to wolf it down.  He was so hungry.  Even when the bowl was empty, he felt hollowed out.

"Well.  You're still alive, so my work here is done."  He tilted his head towards the guards.  "He's all yours."

Davenport quickly whipped out his compact mirror and checked himself.  Damned if the Falcon was going to catch him looking out of sorts.  The blood had been cleaned off his face, and surprisingly little of it had landed on his uniform, the droplets mostly blending in with the bright red.  He took another mouthful of water and swished it around as best he could, trying to get the blood off his teeth.  And then he dipped his fingers in the water, wetting just the tips, and finger-combed his hair into something somewhat presentable.

One of the guards grabbed him by the arm.  "Come on, pretty boy," he growled.

"This one's got a beauty routine," the other snorted.  They both laughed.

Heathens.

They led him through tunnels which became progressively cooler and damper.  There was a slight but continuous downward slope to the path.  So they were going deeper into the underground.  He wondered how long ago this mining operation had been abandoned, and how long the Raptors had been using it as their hideout.

They brought him at last to a large-ish and surprisingly well-lit room, lined with sturdy worktables covered in books and scientific equipment.  Old arcane circles were drawn in the floor from long-ago spellwork. Crude, bulky power lines lay strewn across the floor like dead snakes, drawing energy from who knew what sort of power source.

And there was the Barry-doppelganger he'd noticed in last night's crowd.  He was dressed in a black cloak and his signature blue jeans, and he was bent over a notebook, so deep in his work he didn't even notice Davenport's arrival.  Just like the Barry he knew.

And there was Lucretia's doppelganger, huddled in a corner, as if trying to make herself invisible.  Also not unlike the Lucretia he knew.  If it weren't for her gaunt frame and haunted eyes, he might have thought this was his Lucretia.

And there was the Red Falcon, lounging in a chair.  "Good morning!" he chirped, like they were the best of friends.  "Rise and shine.  Ready to get to work?"

Davenport, of course, said nothing.

The Red Falcon stood.  "So, I bet you're wondering what I have in store for you.  But it's nothing you can't handle, I'm sure."  He took Davenport by the arm and led him to a free-standing chalkboard covered in old arcane formulae.  "Now, your Barry Bluejeans and I had some _very_ interesting conversations while he was here.  Smart guy.  I see why you picked him for your crew.  He told me all about the Light of Creation, what he'd learned about it, and all about bond energy.  Fascinating stuff."  He grabbed the bottom of the chalkboard and flipped it around, revealing a detailed sketch of the Starblaster surrounded by what were obviously bond energy equations. 

Davenport blinked.

"Smart guy," said the Falcon, "but unfortunately he didn't have the skills I needed.  He was a theory guy, not an engineer.  That's where you come in."  He pulled out his dagger and pointed to the giant circle at the stern of the ship.  "I want you, Captain Davenport, to build me a bond engine."

Davenport laughed, a short, nervous bark of utter disbelief. 

The Falcon jabbed him in the throat, hard and vicious and fast as lightning.  Davenport staggered back, stunned, trying to claw breath into his lungs.  He stumbled against a work table, choking.

The Falcon regarded him coolly.  "That is the first and the last time you assume I'm joking," he said.

Davenport coughed, rubbing his neck.  He glanced at the Vulture and at Lucretia—Quillbird, she'd been called last night—but both of them were watching him with carefully blank expressions. 

"Now, it doesn't have to be big," the Falcon continued, turning back to the chalkboard as if nothing had interrupted him.  "A fully-functional scale model, that's all I ask.  Something big enough to carry an average payload of, say, 150 pounds.  Up to twice that for short spurts.  Now, I don't know what sort of size-to-payload ratio this thing requires, but I'm guessing it wouldn't have to be too big at all."  He turned back to Davenport and smiled, clapping him on the shoulder.  "I'm sure you'd be able to figure it out."

Davenport stared at him.  This wasn't the same Red Falcon he'd dealt with last night, the one who kept blowing off his explanations and acting like any number of dangerous, stupid men he'd dealt with in the past.  This was a dangerous, smart man.  A strategist, an _engineer._

This was _him_.

"Of course, there is one resource we're missing.  We don't have the Light of Creation.  You needed the Light for the initial synchronization of the engine's bond energy wavelengths, isn't that right?"

Davenport nodded without thinking, too stunned by what was even happening here.  How much had Barry told him?  How much did the Falcon _understand_?

The Falcon gave him one more clap on the shoulder.  "Well, don't you worry about that!"  And he crossed the room, and withdrew a black cloth from an object that had been sitting on one of the worktables. 

The Light of Creation shone like a captured star.  Davenport's blood froze.

"Yeah," said the Falcon, leaning against the table and admiring the Light.  "It's amazing what a bit of Illusion and Transmutation magic can do to make a replica."

Davenport sank to his knees.  They'd been tricked.  It had all been for nothing.  The Falcon had the Light, and he was trapped—

This had been the Falcon's plan all along.                     

The Red Falcon gave him a vicious smile.  "I see you're finally putting two and two together," he said.

His fingers clenched, nails digging into his palms.

"Now don't you worry about your little interdimensional mission.  I don't want this plane to get eaten any more than you do."  The Falcon tossed the cover over the Light.  "So here's my deal.  You stay with me and build me a bond engine.  You will show me, step by step, how it is done and how it works.  Vulture will assist with the Light as necessary, and Quillbird will be taking notes.  And before the year is up, I'll let you take the Light and head back to your ship, and you can fly away to the next cycle like the uptight little hero you are."  He flicked his fingers in a gesture of contempt.  "Not that you'll decline, of course.  If you try to stall or sabotage me, I'll be more than happy to round up some hostages and have them tortured for you.  I might even send Fire Hawk after your crew, and this time I'll let her shoot to kill."  He grinned.

"Fire, fire!" came a high-pitched shriek from behind a steel door Davenport hadn't even noticed.  It was Lup's voice.  "Let me burn them all!"

"She loves her work," said the Falcon.  "So.  Captain Davenport.  Are you ready to get to work?"

It had all been a fucking trick.  How could he have been this stupid?  He'd failed, and now his only chance to get out of here with the Light was to put powerful technology into the hands of a madman.

His crew was still out there, though.  Maybe they could come up with a plan to spring him before he could finish the work.  With his limited resources, it would take months to build a bond engine, even a small one.  And it would be easy to sabotage the work in a way the Falcon wouldn't notice.  The best he could do for now was to buy his crew time, learn what he could about this place.  It was the best chance he could give them, the only way he could help from where he was.

So he swallowed his bile and nodded.

The Red Falcon smiled.  "Let's get to work, then!"

 

#

 

"Well," said Lup.  "This sucks."

Barry rubbed his face with both hands.  He looked so tired.  "The Red Falcon has the Light, and now he has the captain."  They were all gathered around the dining room table, but Davenport's chair was achingly empty.  He glanced at it once, and looked away.

Magnus sat scowling, beefy arms folded across his chest.  Lup could practically hear his teeth grinding.  "We should turn this ship around and go back and rescue him!  Rush in, grab him and the Light, and get out of there."

"But they'll probably kill him if we get too close," said Lucretia.  "He's effectively a hostage."

Taako wasn't meeting anyone's eyes.  His own arms were folded across his chest, his transmuted hands tucked into his robes.  "He'll come back if he snuffs it.  He'd want us to get the Light anyway, right?"  His voice was very quiet.  "He'd...that's our number one priority.  That's what he'd tell us, right?"

"No," said Magnus.  "No.  Absolutely not!  We're not sacrificing Cap'nport!"

"Well that's what's gonna happen if we, if we fuckin' rush right in--"

"Hold on.  Both of you."  Lup stood, holding out her hands in a 'settle down' motion.  The tension was taut as a bowstring.  She needed to calm things down before this blew up into a full-scale argument. 

Gods, she hated being the adult in the room.  That was supposed to be Davenport's job.  But Davenport wasn't here.  And the crew were already flailing around in the dark.

"Okay," she said, "listen up.  Knowing Cap'nport, he would want us to focus on getting the Light no matter what.  Nobody wants to sacrifice him, and so we shouldn't make any plan that would put him unduly at risk.  But, we can't take it off the table.  Magnus, I know this sucks ass.  But if saving this plane means losing him, Taako's right.  It's what he'd want us to do." 

The crew fell silent.  Of all of them, only Davenport and Lucretia had avoided death for the past 17 cycles.  Both Magnus and Barry had been trained to fly the Starblaster in case their captain was lost or incapacitated, but he was still the most skilled pilot of all of them.  He was still their leader, their anchor, the one who always kept his cool no matter how badly things were falling apart.  Nobody looked forward to the day they'd have to go on without him. 

She took a deep breath.  "That being said, we should be smart about this.  The Red Falcon's got a small army of thugs and a heavily-guarded fortress.  And he also has his own Lup, only more powerful and with no moral restraints, which is bad enough.  But he also has his own _all of us_.  As much as I'd love to go in there and blow shit up, we need to be careful.  Right now, he has all the advantage."

"It's worse than that," said Barry, looking up.  His eyes were red and teary.  "I think--I think I know why the Red Falcon did what he did."

The rest of the crew looked at him, and he seemed to shrink in on himself.  "He didn't just let me go in exchange for Davenport because the captain offered himself.  It--it was the Falcon's plan all along.  He had his Barry--the, the Vulture--studying the Light of Creation.  And he'd sent his scouts out to the ship.  All the time you were looking for me, his people were watching you.  And he kept asking me about the ship and the Light and the bond engine and how it all worked.  I told him I was a physicist, that our captain was the engineer and I didn't really know how to apply the Light mechanically.  I was hoping that would head him off, but…"  He trailed off, not meeting any of their eyes.

"--but he, he fuckin' swapped you for the captain," Taako said, teeth gritted.  "The whole--the other me getting himself captured, the--bringing Cap in for negotiations, it was all a fuckin' set-up?"

Barry nodded. 

"It shoulda been fuckin' obvious," Taako went on.  "I knew I shoulda been way too smart to get myself captured like a chump."

"Okay," said Lup.  "Okay.  Adding to our list of things to keep in mind.  The Red Falcon is apparently just as good a strategist as our captain, even if he is batshit crazy.  And he's probably getting Cap'nport to build him something with the Light."

Lucretia was tapping her fingers on the table.  "But what?  Another bond engine?  What could he possibly want or need with one?"

"Maybe he wants to escape the plane himself when the Hunger comes?" Merle offered.

"Would that even work?  We're not even sure what triggered our bond engine to give us a reset point in the first place."  Lucretia looked around the table, but nobody had an answer for her.

Barry shook his head.  "I talked up the Captain too much," he said.  "I kept saying how smart he was, and how he'd never abandon his crew.  Falcon must've known he'd offer to make the switch."  He groaned, burying his face in his hands.  "Gods, why did he have to do that?  He didn't--he didn't have to sacrifice himself for me.  He's…he's more important."

Lup had a terrible feeling she knew exactly why Davenport did what he did.  But now wasn't the time to bring up her suspicions.  "Don't sell yourself short like that," she said instead.  She wanted to give Barry a hug, but she settled for a more professional pat on the shoulder.  "Cap'nport is a smart guy.  He knew what he was getting into.  Well, mostly.  None of us expected the Falcon to give us the switcheroo on the Light."

"Dav's resourceful," Merle piped up.  "Maybe he was hoping he'd have a better chance of escaping?"

"That place is a fortress," said Barry, bleakly.  "And even if he did get out--best case scenario--he wouldn't be able to send us a message.  He can't use a Stone of Farspeech, and it's not like he can send a letter by courier."

Another uneasy silence settled around the table.  The idea of Cap'nport on his own, unable to communicate with them, unable to communicate with _anybody_ , was disturbing and awful.  Lup still couldn't shake the sound of his pained, guttural cry.  She'd looked away like he'd asked her to, but--damn.  That just made it worse, because her imagination was filling in the blanks for her.

Magnus slammed a fist on the table.  "Damn it, this sucks!"  He looked up at Taako, pointing an accusatory finger.  "This wouldn't have even happened if Taako's evil twin hadn't--why are you even working for the Falcon?!"

"What?"  Taako rolled his eyes, waving one gold fist as if wiping the accusation off his shoulder.  "Homey, don't ask me!  I'm not that guy!  He's awful!"  He glared at Magnus.  "And what about you, huh?  Other Magnus was hangin' over Evil Cap'nport like the world's most dedicated meat shield.  Why don't you tell me why you're protecting a murdering asshole like him?"

"Whoa, whoa!"  Barry was on his feet as if he'd been struck by lighting.  "Guys--guys, don't do this!  Hold on a minute!"

Taako and Magnus shifted their glares from each other to him.  He shrank back a little, but Lup was impressed to see him hold his ground. 

Barry bit his lip.  "You--we can't do this.  Okay?  We--we can't blame each other for what our, uh, doppelgangers do."

"Yeah, I'm with Barry on this," said Merle, also getting to his feet, though his short height made this visually much less impressive.  "Those douchebags aren't us.  They may look like us, they may have our names, but they're shitty copies, if that."

Barry ran his fingers through his short hair.  "Look, I know this is weird.  Unprecedented.  The strangest coincidence we've seen so far.  Seven alternate, apparently evil versions of ourselves?  All part of the same gang?  That is one hell of a coincidence.  Literally."  Barry took a deep breath.  "But we--we came from different circumstances.  We made different choices, we became different people.  Maybe--maybe this is what Lup was trying to warn us about:  a world where we didn't stop each other, where we all got to a dark place and just…stopped caring.  Even about each other.  But they're not us, and, and we're not them, and we don't have to _be_ them."

Lup's heart flooded.  She loved this man.  She loved Barry. 

"So, so let's stick together on this, okay?"  Barry reached out his hands to Taako and Magnus.  "Let's not judge each other by what our doppelgangers have done or are willing to do.  We're better than them.  We're...well, we're _us_."

Magnus bit his lip, and swept both Barry and Taako into a massive hug.  Tears were pouring down his cheeks, even without his Cool Guy Shades to cover them up.  So Lup did the kind thing and pretended not to notice him crying.  Instead she threw herself into the hug, leaving room for Merle and pulling in Lucretia when she caught the young woman's shy, hesitant look.

It was strange, Lup thought, leaning into the warmth of Magnus's shoulder.  This was the second time in two months that the Starblaster Crew had shared a tender moment of camaraderie and resolution, while Davenport was unable to stand with them.  He'd been nearby, that first time--standing at the wheel, holding up one hand in a gesture of solidarity as the other hand steered them to safety.  But now he wasn't even on the ship.  He was stuck in a dark cell somewhere, probably in pain and definitely at the mercy of the Red Falcon. 

She'd have to fix that.  Next time they shared a group hug, Davenport was going to be in on it.


	8. Hidden Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucretia steps up. Merle is on a roll. Magnus sees a familiar face.

"Okay, Taako, hold still."

"Don't fuck this up for me, Lulu.  I don't wanna spend the next ten months with half-melted solid gold clubs for hands."

"Hey, weren't you the one who once said you could make any look work?"

"And do you wanna be the one to wipe my ass for the rest of the cycle, Lup?  'Cuz if it comes to that, I will volunteer you for the job."

Lup snorted.  "Too bad this didn't happen last cycle.  We coulda gotten you some cool robot hands.  Seriously, though, hold still."

Lucretia watched the twins from her place by the common room table.  They'd set up an arcane circle nearby, and Lup was examining Taako's transmuted fists.  "You can do it," she said.  "You two are hella smart."

"Well, obvs!"  Taako gave her something that looked almost like his usual snarky smile.  Concealing the fact that he was probably very nervous.  They all knew there were so many ways this could go wrong. 

Taako was their transmutation expert.  But he wasn't able to cast at the moment, not with his fists transmuted.  Something about the gold interfering with the flow of arcane energy.  All he could do was try to walk Lup through something that was far outside her wheelhouse.

"Okay, hold still."  She ran her hands over his left fist, the non-dominant one.  "We're gonna take this nice and slow.  Let me know if you feel anything."

Taako winced.  Lup muttered something under her breath.  Lucretia quickly sketched them in her journal, capturing Lup's thoughtful gaze and Taako's worried frown.

"Lucy, you better not be sketching us," he said through gritted teeth. 

"Aww, but it's a tender Twin moment," she said, trying to lighten the mood with a smile.

Taako opened his mouth to say something, then hissed.  "Okay, definitely feeling something.  A lotta, uh, lotta tingling, like my hand fell asleep."

"Can you move your fingers?"

There was a sound like the creaking of metal.  "Uh, I think I opened my fist a little?" 

Lup withdrew her hands.  Taako had extended his middle finger.  She laughed.  "Okay, that's damn impressive!  Lucy, you should definitely sketch this."

Taako lifted it to show it off.  "Maybe I should leave it like this.  Let 'em know how I really feel."

Lup smirked.  "As awesome an idea as that is, I wouldn't want you breaking off such an important finger."  She covered his hand again and concentrated.

Lucretia watched them, trying to imagine a world in which these two were…together but not.  Where Lup was consumed with arcane power to the point of madness, and Taako was so shut off as to not even care about her anymore.  It was so hard to imagine a world where the love they shared apparently didn't exist anymore.  But here it was.  This was that world. 

She paused, stretching her fingers to give them some relief.  She'd sat up most of the night after their awful retreat, capturing as much testimony as she could from Barry and the twins about what had gone down.  She glanced over at the bundle of transcribed Raptor ballads that sat neatly on the table.  She'd looked them all over dozens of times, but none of them had been helpful.  None of them had been able to prepare them for…this.  Still, something was nagging at her.  Something about specific turns of phrase, certain words repeated. 

"Okay.  Now try."

Taako lifted his left hand, opening and closing his fingers.  They appeared to be flesh again, only they still had a distinctive gold shimmer, as if he'd dipped them in glitter paint.  He tried casting Light.  A small globe of arcane light sputtered into existence, shaky at first but settling into a steady glow.  "Hmm.  Arcane flow's still a little off, but the magic's back, so that's something.  I might be able to . . ."  He passed his left hand over his still-frozen right hand, which softened back into gold-tinted flesh.   He held them both up and grinned.

Lup whooped and threw her arms around her brother.  "We did it!  We are amazing."

"Hell yeah we are, Lulu!"  They sat back and high-fived.

Lucretia clapped.  "Not gonna lie, I'm digging the new look."

Taako snorted.  "Yeah, I might keep 'em this way.  So if that fuckin' off-brand quasi-Taako shows up again, you can tell us apart.  Might dye my hair, too."

"No way I'd get you mixed up," said Lup quietly.  "There was something in his eyes . . ."  She shook her head.  "I could tell."

_We came from different circumstances,_ Barry had said.  _We made different choices, we became different people._

Lucretia sat up.  "Hey," she said, her voice breaking.  "I think I have an idea."

"Oh?"  Taako stood, brushing imaginary dust from his leggings.  "Well spill it, Lucy, because I would love an idea to cling to right now."

"Wait, let's get the others in on this.  Merle?"  The dwarf had fallen asleep on the couch, but at the sound of his name he snorted and sat up, insisting he was awake and had been awake the whole time.  "Magnus?"  He was sitting at the helm, which was open to and slightly above the common room area.  He'd been sitting there grim-faced for hours, fingers clenched tightly on the wheel, but at her voice he looked over his shoulder with a nod.  She waved him over, so he set the ship to hover on auto-pilot and joined them. 

She turned towards the corridor that led to the crew members' berths, but hesitated before calling Barry.  She glanced back at Lup, who shook her head.

Yeah.  Best to let him keep sleeping.  Poor guy was exhausted down to the bones.  They'd catch him up later.

And now the rest of the crew was all looking at her.  Well then.

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath.  "Okay.  So I was thinking about what Barry and Lup both said last night.  About how the Raptors have all these advantages, as well as being, like, us but with no moral restraints?  But--but not really us, because they became different people shaped by different circumstances?"  She could feel all their eyes on her, and kept her own gaze studiously focused on some point beyond Magnus's shoulder.  Gods, this was hard.  "But we don't know what those circumstances are.  The ballads are so vague, I'm getting the impression that nobody knows anything about the Raptors.  About where they came from, or why they're doing what they're doing."

"Um, they're doing it because they're evil?" Magnus offered.  "That's just what evil people do, right?"

"Nobody's born evil," said Merle.  "Hell, a lot of villains think they're doing the right thing.  For their idea of 'right.'"           

Lucretia nodded.  "Merle's right on this one.  Something caused these versions of ourselves to become who they are today.  But nobody knows what that is."  Another deep breath.  "But we have something that nobody else on this world has.  _We know who they are._   They have our names, our faces.  They might even come from similar backgrounds in their youth.  If this world is close enough to ours that we can have duplicates, why not, say, a dwarven Pannite commune, for example?"

"Hah!"  Merle clapped his hands together.  There was an amused twinkle in his eyes.  "You're suggesting we research these off-brand copycats and figure out what their deal is?"

"Exactly!  If we find that out, we might get a better sense of their powers, their limitations, their capabilities.  What motivates them, and what might stop them."  She held up the sheaf of ballads.  "They're using secrecy to their advantage, but that's one advantage we can take away." 

"Cool idea, Lucy."  Taako pointed a golden finger in her direction.  "I love it.  But where are we gonna start?  I mean, sure there might be a commune of hippie dwarves somewhere, but the continents and place names here are completely different from our world.  And like, Lulu and I were on the road a lot when we were kids.  Tracking down details about the Evil Power Twins might be like, like lookin' for a needle in a fuckin' haystack."

"Hmm…Well, we could start local and work our way back from there?"

"What about the police?" Magnus offered.  "The police might have records, if we're all, like, wanted criminals."

Taako snorted.  "Did you see that one-horse town we hired the guide from?  I don't know about you, but, uh, I didn't see a police station.  Place barely had a town hall.  Their village square was, like, two paving stones and a well.  And from what we've seen, that seems pretty standard for civilization around these parts."

"Yeah, but...hm."  Lup held up a hand.  "There wasn't a police station, but I do remember some sort of small outpost that looked vaguely military-ish.  It was also the closest they had to a post office, if I remember."

"Wait, I remember this, too!" said Lucretia.  "It had a white and yellow banner on a flagpole."  She picked up this cycle's journal and flipped it open till she found the sketch she was looking for.  "The Border Brigade.  That's what the sign said."  She passed the journal around so they could all see the little building she'd sketched. 

"Great!  Only problem is, we do all look like wanted criminals," Taako pointed out.  "I feel like that might be a problem if we wanted to, uh, walk into a military outpost."

Lucretia nodded.  "We didn't have any problems in the last town we visited.  It's possible the Raptors all wear masks or bandannas on their raids, so nobody knows what we--um, _they_ look like."

"Easy for you to say, Lucy.  You've got the whole don't-notice-me thing going on.  But Taako 2 is nothing if not memorable."

"To say nothing of that screaming banshee fire-bitch who's stealing my shtick in the worst way," said Lup with a frown.

"Well," said Merle, "then I nominate Lucretia to be our face for this."  At Lucretia's surprised look, he added, "Taako's right.  You're good at being unobtrusive.  Plus, you're observant as hell, and you're super polite and likeable.  And if your double is some kind of, I guess, chronicler for the Raptors?  She probably wouldn't be in the thick of the fighting.  Of all of us, you're probably the one who's least likely to have been seen."

"Wow, Merle," said Lup, "you're on a fuckin' roll today!  That is some hella insight.  I have to say, I agree."  She turned to Lucretia.  "What about it, Lucy?  You up for taking point on this research mission?"

Her mouth suddenly felt very dry.  She took a deep breath.  "Yeah," she said.  "Yeah, let's do this."

           

#

 

They started with the town of Marlyn.  "It's just a hunch," Lucretia had said, pointing to a line in one of the Raptor ballads.  "Dark birds fly in search of prey / From Marlyn Town to Broken Bay."  The two places weren't geographically opposite in any way, leading her to wonder if the line suggested a specific path they took.  So they started there.

Marlyn was one of the larger towns they'd seen, tucked in the foothills of the eastern mountain range between the Farcry Desert and the sea.  Its main street was cobbled and it had a decent-sized population of humans, elves, and a smattering of dwarves and gnomes.  It boasted several two-and-three-storey buildings of brick or clapboard, in addition to the many residential cottages.

Magnus went with Lucretia so she wouldn't be alone.  He didn't want anyone else to be alone on this mission, not if he could help it.  She wore a big floppy sunhat and he threw a spare red cloak over his shoulders to keep off the beating sun.

They found the Border Brigade outpost easily enough.  It was right on the town square (which was broad and cobbled and busy), marked by a pennant that flapped in a friendly cool breeze.  Men and women in white uniforms trimmed in yellow-gold went in and out through the front door.  The bricks on the front of the building were pasted with various wanted posters.

"Just like I thought," said Lucy, pointing to a large poster hung prominently at human-eye-level.  It read,

**WANTED**

**Members of the Raptor Gang**

_For murder ~ necromancy ~ theft ~ assault_

_property damage ~ general mayhem_

The Border Brigade is seeking information

leading to the location and arrest

of affiliated members of this gang

In particular individuals with the following aliases:

 

And then a list of the seven Raptors named in the ballads.  Followed by an impressive-looking bounty.

There were no birth names.  There were no pictures.  There was not even a suggestion of what race they might be.

"You know what that means," said Lucy.

"They don't leave survivors," he said.

She winced.  "Well, that too.  But I was thinking that means we won't get arrested on the spot."

"And neither would they," he said.  "They could just stroll into a town and as long as they didn't show off their tattoos, no one would know."  He glanced around the square, half-expecting one of their evil twins to pop up and twirl a mustache.

She gave his hand a squeeze.  "That's why I have you watching my back," she said.

He gave her a quick hug, and she slipped into the outpost.

He waited outside in the shade of the building's wide overhang, watching the square and the people passing through it.  But no evil twins popped up to twirl their mustaches.  In fact, the general mood was light.  Not break-out-into-song-and-dance light, but the people here didn't seem bowed down inordinately by the weight of fear.  There was a certain resolution in their faces.  They were just living their lives, and they were ready to face whatever the world could throw at them.

A trio of children played some sort of hoop-and-stick game in the shadow of a statue on the other side of the square.  It appeared to be a bronze statue of a man in uniform, but from this angle, all he could see was its back.  The statue was angled to face the general direction of the town's entrance archway, and the only reason he'd missed it when they'd arrived was that the morning sun had cast a shadow over that side of the square.  But now the sun illuminated the polished bronze, which shone bright and clean.

He scanned the buildings, and his eyes drifted hungrily over to a tavern, through whose swinging half-doors he could smell sizzling meats.  But he wouldn't abandon his post.  He'd wait for Lucy.

She was in there for a while before she emerged. 

"Well?  How did it go?"

"So the Border Brigade's exactly what we guessed," she said as they wandered across the square.  "A military organization that patrols the desert and tries to fend off any raiders and protect the settlements.  But if they have anything on the Raptors," and she shrugged, "they wouldn't tell me.  So I just gave them my report.  Told them we were travelers crossing the desert when the Raptors kidnapped one of our party members.  A gnome named Cap Starblaster."

Magnus smiled.  It wasn't the first time they'd used that alias for their captain, and it always made Cap'nport grimace.  He could just picture the gnome's face, and from Lucy's expression, she was picturing it too.

But then his smile faded.  He sighed.  "Lucy…"

"I know."

"I'm so sorry.  I should've gone in to protect him, I shouldn't've let Barry fly us away, I should've—"

"Magnus."  Lucy squeezed his hand.  Her own face was tight with grief.  "We'll get him back.  He's stronger than you think.  And we'll do what we can to help him.  That's what we're doing right now."  She took a deep breath, and he did the same, trying to steady himself. 

"You're right," he said, pulling himself together.  "We gotta—we gotta focus on this, right?"

"Right."

He took another look at the square.  "You know, I did notice one thing that seems a little odd.  Notice all the buildings around here?"

"Yeah, what about them?"

"They're, like, really new.  Maybe less than five years old?  But the town's older than that.  And there are a handful of older buildings here and there," and he pointed out a few.  "Mostly the ones made of brick.  But everything else looks really recent."

"Maybe there was some sort of natural disaster and they rebuilt?"

"Maybe?  Do you think they get earthquakes around here?"

"Don't know.  We haven't really gotten a good sense of this world's geology yet."  She raised an eyebrow.  "I didn't know you had such an eye for architecture."

He shrugged.  He didn't think he had one, either.  "Just trying to be more observant."

She glanced over the square.  "Let's go ask around in the tavern," she said.  "Those places are usually a gold-mine of information."

"Aw yeah, I was hoping you'd say that!  Whatever's cooking in there smells delicious."  He grinned and flexed both arms.  "Magnus needs his muscle food!"

Lucy chuckled.  They crossed the square and passed by the soldier statue, who stood arms akimbo, proudly watching over the children playing at his feet.

Magnus did a double-take.  He stared at the soldier, and then down at the plaque on the base, which gave the soldier's name and his date of death.  The day he had died in the line of duty, valiantly protecting this town's citizens. 

Magnus stared up at the face again.

It was a very familiar face.  Because it was _his_ face.


	9. The Hero of Marlyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucretia learns a new song, and asks a lot of questions. Magnus gets an extra portion.

The tavern was brightly-lit and smoky, a haze of pipe smoke hanging up in the rafters.  It was that mid-morning quite time, too late for breakfast and too early for lunch, so only a handful of patrons were scattered about.  In one corner, a bard in fancy sunflower-colored garb strummed a stringed instrument that looked like a distended lute.

Lucretia took a seat at the bar next to Magnus and fanned herself with her wide-brimmed hat.  Magnus kept his hood up, keeping his face in shadow.  Now that they'd confirmed that this world's Magnus was both famous and assumed to be dead, the last thing they wanted to do was cause a scene.

She could tell by his nervous shifting on the bar stool and the looks he gave her that he wanted to ask a million questions.  But she would have to be the one to ask them for him.

"So," she said to the bartender, "what's good?  Because whatever's sizzling on that grill smells delicious."

Magnus gave her a grateful smile.

The bartender looked up with a smile.  "You're new to town, aint'cha?"  He was an elderly half-elf, and he smiled at her with a wrinkled, benign face. 

She laughed.  "Am I that obvious?"

He tilted his head towards the grill.  "That's our local special.  Pepper-crusted beef skewers.  And the ones I serve here are an old family recipe."

"That sounds delicious!  What do you think, Mag--uh, Maguyver?" she stumbled, reaching for an alias.  "Maguyver…O'Malley, my good friend.  Maguyver O'Malley."  Well.  At least it was better than that time Magnus took the alias Slate Slabrock.  Or Buck Plankchest.  Or Dirk Hardpec.

The bartender raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, we'll take two orders," she added quickly.

"And to drink?"

"Ale," Magnus grumbled in a deep, anonymous bass.

She nodded.  "And I'll take a milk!" she declared, in the confident tones of a real badass who knew what she was doing and wasn't at all nervous, nosiree.

The bartender smiled, amused.  "Coming right up."

The bard in the corner ended one song, and began another.  It was low and dragging and melancholy.  " _Children runnin' 'neath a clear blue sky_ ," he sang softly, letting that last word hang.  " _Seven shadows comin' from way up high_."

She sat up.

" _Like ashes thrown from a burning pyre...Seven deaths circlin' high and higher_..."

It was a Raptor ballad.  But it wasn't one she was familiar with. 

_"Children better run, better run and hide_

_Stay by your mommas so you don't get spied_

_For the Falcon sees with a hungry eye_

_And he'll snatch you up into the sky._

_Now where he comes from, I don't know_

_The wind's got its secrets, the breeze sings woe, woe, woe_

_No, I don't know the Falcon's way_

_But the whirlwind knows and will not say_

_But the whirlwind knows and will not say."_

 

A silent melancholy had descended on the tavern as the last chord faded.  Lucretia stared at the bard, who looked up and caught her eye, and dropped it again.

The bartender set two sizzling plates of peppered beef skewer in front of her and Magnus.  "Play something more cheerful, Allen," he said, raising an eyebrow at the bard.  "Or you'll put all my customers off their food."

"I thought it was lovely," said Lucretia.

"Lovely, yes," said the bartender.  "But distressingly morbid."

The bard plucked a few strings with a shrug, then broke out into an upbeat jig, with lyrics about spring flowers and young love.

"See?  That's more like it."  He gave a dusty chuckle.  "Enjoy your meals, you two."

"Hey, um!  Before you go…"  Lucretia scrambled to think about how to phrase her questions.  "You're right, we're new in town.  We've come a long way, and I'm, um, trying to track down some folks I've heard of.  But I don't even know where to begin, and so I thought…a lot of folks coming through the tavern, and all…"  She waved a hand at the mostly-empty room.

The bartender raised an eyebrow.  "Who you looking for?"

"Well.  Um.  A pair of elf twins named Taako and Lup?  Tall, thin--"

The bartender shook his head.  "That describes most elves.  Haven't seen any twins, though."

"A human man named Barry Bluejeans, middle-aged, wears glasses, kinda--kinda nerdy and soft?"

Another shake.

"A woman named Lucretia, dark skinned like me?  Looks kinda like me, like a--a family resemblance, we could be sisters.  I mean.  Um."

Another shake, this time accompanied by a paternal smile.  "'Fraid not."

"Um.  Okay, what about a dwarf named Merle Highchurch?  Gray beard, a cleric, a beach dwarf…"

He chuckled.  "You're pretty far from the beach."

"How about a gnome named Davenport?"

"Not a lot of gnomes 'round these parts anymore.  Name doesn't ring a bell."

"What about...Magnus Burnsides?"

Both his bushy white eyebrows lifted.  "Well.  There's a name I know!  But if you came to town hoping to meet him, I'm afraid you're a bit late."  He nodded towards the front doors, to the square where his statue stood vigil.  "He's been dead a few years now."

Lucretia tried to look appropriately disappointed, as if she wasn't aware that this Magnus was quite alive and well.  "How did he, uh, what happened?"

He shook his head.  "That's a sad story.  He was well-loved around these parts.  The Hero of Marlyn, they call him.  They gave him a medal for what he did."

Lucretia leaned forward on her elbows.  "We're not in a rush, if you're willing to tell."  She pulled out one of her ubiquitous pocket-journals and a quill.

He looked out over the still-mostly-empty room, and shrugged.  "Well, this was about five years ago, when Marlyn was hit hard by a bandit gang.  Came in the night like a firestorm, tore up the place from the foothills all the way up into Golden Valley.  We've dealt with bandits before, but this was something else.  On another level.  Bloody Monday, we call it."

"The Raptors?" 

He shook his head.  "No, this was before the Raptors.  The Cobras, this group called themselves.  One of the worst gangs Farcry has ever seen.  The Border Brigade was doing their best to protect all the towns, but the near-destruction of Marlyn was the final straw.  So they decided to take the battle to the Cobras.  A lot of young and headstrong folks in town signed up in the Brigade to help out.  Burnsides was one of them."  He sighed.  "He was a good kid.  Came by once in a while, always had a big goofy grin on his face.  But he lost his family and his lover on Bloody Monday, and I never saw him smile after that." 

She heard Magnus shift uncomfortably on the barstool next to hers.  "Sounds like he was a good person," she said.  She was going to give Magnus so many hugs when they got back to the ship.  Her Magnus was also overburdened with grief, but he kept his smile and goofy nature and she loved him for it, but she knew it weighed on him.  His heart was so big, everything weighed on him.

Behind her, the bard wrapped up his song and fell silent.

"Yeah, he was a good kid, and well-liked."  The bartender nodded.  "But it was the Battle of Broken Hill, the one that finally destroyed the Cobras, where he became a hero.  'Distinguished courage in battle.'  Gave him the Sungold medal of valor for it.  We threw him a party and everything."

"So he didn't die in battle, then?"

Another shake of his head.  "No, he survived the battle.  He died less than a year later, though, protecting the town from a serial killer."

"A serial killer?"  She glanced at Magnus, who only raised both eyebrows in the shadow of his hood and shrugged.

"Yeah, the Shadow Stalker, we called him.  Kept stalking and taking out Brigade members in the night, always when they were on patrol by themselves or in pairs.  Took out nearly a dozen of 'em before Burnsides gathered a group together and trailed the Stalker out into the desert.  He managed to kill him, but lost his life in doing so."

Lucretia took Magnus's hand beneath the bar and squeezed it.  "And is he…buried in town?  Is there a, a grave I can visit?"

He shrugged.  "There's a grave, but they never recovered the body."

"I see."  That might explain a few things.  Maybe this Burnsides had simply run off into the night and fallen in with the Raptors?  But from everything this man said about him, this Burnsides didn't seem the type to just run off and become a villain.  There were still pieces to this puzzle she was missing.  "Well, thank you for the story."

"Of course.  Always happy to oblige."  And he slipped away down the bar as a handful of patrons came in for an early lunch.

Lucretia chewed on her pepper-crusted beef.  It was surprisingly tasty.  She glanced at Magnus, who gave her a thumbs-up as he chewed. 

"Good stuff," he said quietly.  But she could see the troubled look in his eyes.  She gave his hand another squeeze.

The bard slid up to the bar on her other side.  "Hey Rowan, how about another drink?  My throat's getting a little dry."

"Still haven't paid your tab, Allen," said the bartender, though there was a good-natured smile on his face.  Like he'd made this complaint so many times before that it had become a mere formality.

"You know how it is," said Allen.  "I can't get the money to pay you unless I sing, and I can't sing on a dry throat--"

"Yes, yes, of course."

Allen turned to Lucretia and winked.  Rowan slid him a mug of ale.

"It really was a lovely song," she said.  "Melancholy, but you sang it well."

He gave her a smile that was somehow both dashing and a little shy.  "Thank you," he said.  "Nice to know at least one person in the room has a good ear.  You a bard, too?"

She blushed.  "Not musical, no.  I'm actually—you could say I'm more of a chronicler.  I, um, collect Raptor ballads, as it happens."

Allen raised an eyebrow.  "Interesting topic," he said.  "You don't strike me as the type to be so interested in blood and death."

"You'd be surprised," she blurted out.

The other eyebrow lifted.  Lucretia winced inwardly.  Merle had so much faith in her to be the face for this research project, but talking to real live people had never been her strong suit.  "I mean, um, people can be really surprising when you learn more about them.  Like my friend here, Maguyver O'Malley.  He totally looks like he could break someone's neck if they looked at him cross-eyed, but he'd never actually do that.  He's really sweet and cries over rom-coms." 

"What?" Magnus cried, and then " _What?_ " again, but in his deeper, anonymous growl.  "I do not do that."

"So yeah, I'm totally into—bring on the blood and death."  She chugged the last of her milk, and slammed the mug on the bar with a firm thud.

"Oookay, then."  Allen was looking at them both as if he wasn't quite sure what was happening.  He chuckled nervously.  "So it's a new piece, actually—"

"Really?  I thought so."  She began taking notes.  "I hadn't heard it before and wasn't sure if it was regional."

"No, actually this is its first public performance!  You can put that down in your little journal."  He pointed to her book.  "It's called _The Falcon's Way_."   

Lucretia scratched this down.  She used the motion to give her a moment to think, because she wanted to phrase her next words very carefully.  She had a suspicion about this song, and if she was right… "The lyrics you wrote are haunting," she said.

He shrugged one shoulder.  "Alas, as much as I'd love to take credit, the lyrics aren't mine.  I just set them to music."

Bingo.  "Oh?  Is it from somewhere else?  A, a poem or something?"

"Actually, I've got a lyricist I work with."

"And what's their name?  What's your collaboration like?"

The smile he gave her was conspiratorial.  "Now that's an intriguing story."  He leaned in close, dropping his voice to a whisper.  "I don't actually know their name.  They're a mysterious, anonymous figure I've never met.  But every so often, I get a letter in the mail, a poem.  Always about the Raptors.  So I set it to music and play it."  He tilted his head, and his look was faraway.  "I'd love to meet them, actually.  I mean, it'll probably be disappointing.  It'll turn out they're a bored house husband, or a government official with a way with words but a need for anonymity."  He sighed, pressing a hand over his heart.  "But the mystery is sweet."

Lucretia chewed on the tip of her quill.  "May I, um, copy down your lyrics?  For my records, I mean."

"Of course."  He pulled out a small folded piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to her. 

It was a letter addressed to Allen.  The body contained only the lyrics, written in a precise and delicate hand.  There was no signature.  As she looked it over, the idea forming in the back of her head solidified.  She copied the lyrics down and glanced over at Magnus, who had finished up his pepper-crusted beef and was eyeing her (mostly) untouched portion with puppy-dog eyes.  "You can have one of mine," she said, "but I'm definitely having the other."

He grinned and picked up one of the skewers.

"Thank you, Allen," she said, handing the letter back.  "And…here's for the singing."  She set some money on the counter, enough for their two meals plus a little extra.  To Rowan, she said, "His next drink's on me."

Allen looked surprised, but he quickly collected himself and gave her a dashing bow.  "My profoundest thanks, my lady," he said with a grin.

"Er, and my profoundest thanks to you too, uh, good sir."  She picked up her journal and the remaining pepper-steak skewer.  "Let's go, Magnu—Maguyver.  Damn it.  Maguyver."

Magnus snorted, and followed.  "You're in a hurry," he said when they were outside again.  "Got an idea?"

"Yeah.  Let's head back to the ship.  I need to think this out."  She took a bite of her pepper-crusted beef.  "Hot diggity shit, this is delicious.  I'm gonna have to see if the twins can make this."

Magnus's steps slowed as they passed his statue.  She paused.  "You, um, doing okay?" she asked.  "I know this whole thing is, um, more weird than usual for us."

He sighed and shook his head.  "Nah, I was just thinking.  I mean, in a place where there's another me, I was kinda thinking…I'd like to have seen my family again.  Just once.  Just to, like, peer in the window and see their faces again."  He started walking again, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders slumped.  "But that guy said that they were dead, so…I guess that's not happening."

She patted him on the arm, and said nothing.  What could you say to that? 

He wiped his nose on a sleeve and straightened.  "So what's your idea?" he said, his voice only a little muddy with unshed tears.

She bit her lip.  "I think our mystery lyricist is the other me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mystery deepens...
> 
> Also, I am apparently a sucker for Disaster Lucretia who opens her mouth and says the dumbest things. It's incredibly hard for me to write, though, otherwise I'd be doing it a lot more often :P
> 
> Thank you again for all your supportive comments and kudos! It means the world to me that people are enjoying this monstrous fic I'm writing ^.^ (Monstrous in terms of size; this will probably be about 70-80k total in terms of final word count, so a short novel length. Truly I did not expect that when I started writing!)
> 
> And if anyone is curious, I did in fact write a melody in my head for The Falcon's Way. But I have no recording skills and no idea how to post music on here anyway, so...feel free to make up your own melancholy tune! In the meantime, I'll be here singing it in my kitchen while I wash dishes.
> 
> Anyway, tune in on Sunday for the next chapter, which will be 100% pure uncut Davenport angst. Because that's how it is on this b*tch of a plane, apparently.
> 
> ETA: aliensinflowercrowns actually set the The Falcon's Way to music and recorded it! It is lovely and haunting and headcanon accepted?? If you want to hear it, you can find it here: https://drive.google.com/open?id=14iHBCPlh4b2e9tp3QKNQE8TezxB-L8t1 Thank you again! <3


	10. Bond Engineer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davenport builds a bond engine. In a cave. With a box of scraps.

Davenport tried not to think about where the Red Falcon got all his supplies.  All he knew was that he'd written out a list and, within a week, everything he asked for was waiting in the lab.  Everything from steel and iron to insulated copper wiring to a box of alligator clips.  There was even a fresh new folio of blueprint paper for him.  In the meantime, he had covered the chalkboard with calculations, figuring out exactly the diameter he'd need for an engine with an average payload of 150 pounds.  Only 11.5 inches across, he determined.  Not large at all.  He wondered what the Falcon had between 150 and 300 pounds that he wanted to be able to move quickly.  A person?  A missile?  Boxes of armaments?

The Condor pried open the last crate with a crowbar.  One final box of looped power cables.  Davenport waved in the direction of one corner of the lab, where all the cables were residing, and the Condor heaved it up and carried it over.

He flipped open the blueprint folio and began to sketch. 

The Red Falcon leaned over his shoulder.  "Show me what you're doing," he said.  "Write it out."  The Red Falcon was always in the lab when he was there, hovering just behind him like a shadow.

So Davenport wrote it all out. 

It was frustrating, not being able to explain just by talking.  By habit, he tended to spell out all his words in delicate script, but within that first week, his writing became truncated, words compressing into their most necessary letters to convey meaning.  _"Bond engine must be balanced to allow smooth rotation"_ became _"Bnd Ngn mst B balncd 4 smooth rotatn."_   And then _Bnd Ngn_ simply became a circle with a dot in its center.

The Vulture also hovered nearby, asking questions about the Light and about bond energy when it was relevant.  Even this blood-soaked necromancer was still a scientist at heart, apparently fascinated by the theory of it all.

Quillbird sat anonymously in the corner, transcribing everything.

"I…uh, I don't think I understand," said the Vulture one day, staring at a diagram that Davenport had written on the chalkboard.  "But wouldn't that mean the energy flow would double back on itself?"

He scrawled yet another explanation and tapped it with the chalk.  It was his third rephrasing of the same issue. 

"Wait," said the Vulture, "could you start over again?  Back here, with the—what is that word, 'psychical'?"

_Physical_ , he wanted to snap.  Instead he squeezed the piece of chalk in his fingers till it snapped instead.  The Vulture jumped.

The Falcon snorted.  "Temper, temper," he cooed.

Davenport rubbed his forehead.  He recognized that being speechless would slow down the process, which in theory was a good thing.  But damn, he hated being misunderstood. 

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the Falcon laid an arm across his shoulders.  "Hey," he said, in the reassuring tone of an old friend, "you were the one who offered your tongue for your crew." 

He bit his lip and looked away.  The Falcon was just trying to get under his skin. 

"If it makes you feel any less stupid," he went on, "you were going to lose your tongue regardless."

He stiffened.

"Oh yeah," the Falcon drawled.  "The moment I saw you manage your motley crew with a single word, I knew that tongue had to come out one way or another.  You just made it much easier for me!"  He pulled Davenport close in a tight side-hug, fingers clenched tight over his shoulder like a bear trap.  His voice dropped to a low growl.  "Maybe next time, you shouldn't build your authority around something that can be taken from you."

He clapped Davenport on the shoulder and shoved him away.  "Vulture!" he snapped.  "We'll go through this one more time, and if you still don't get it…"  He tugged on the armature of a worktable lamp.  "I can make your face more symmetrical."

The Vulture shuddered, one hand flying up to a fading burn scar on his cheek.  He swallowed.  "Uh, y-yes, sir.  One more…one more time."

And the Falcon turned and winked at Davenport, like they were sharing a secret.

 

#

 

He tried once, only once, to mar the equations.  Hoping to introduce an error that, though small, would ensure a cascade of catastrophic failure.

"What's this?" the Red Falcon asked, jabbing his finger at the chalkboard.  "Why do you need this extra coupling here?"

_Necsry 4 enrgy flow_ , he wrote.

The Falcon frowned, eyes scanning the diagram and the related equations.  "Sure, necessary," he said, "if you want the payload to fly into the fucking sun.  Guards!" he snapped.  "Condor, grab the captain.  I think it's time for a little object lesson."

The Condor grabbed Davenport by the arms and held him in place.  His grip was like iron.  Davenport's blood pounded in his ears. 

The guards at the door returned leading a scrawny human man who couldn't have been more than Magnus's age.  He looked terrified.  The Falcon smiled.

"Hello, young man," he said.  "What's your name?"

The man blinked, looking around the room, his eyes landing briefly on Davenport and then back to the Falcon.  "Uh, Gregor, sir."

"Now Gregor, you were with that caravan we got the cables from, is that correct?"

He nodded, licking his dry lips.  "Y-yes sir, just a humble merchant.  I--I don't want any trouble, really."

"Well, Gregor," said the Falcon, "welcome to the classroom!  You're going to help me teach a very valuable lesson to my friend here."  He gestured to Davenport.  "Tell me, Gregor, would you rather keep your hands or your feet?"

The man's mouth dropped open.  He stammered something as the guards took hold of him again, holding him in place.  "I—please don't!" he cried.  "I can get you money if you want, just--just please don't--!"

"That's not an answer," said the Falcon.  He picked up what looked like a butcher's cleaver from one of the Vulture's work tables, testing its weight in his hands.

Davenport squirmed, kicked, thrashed in the Condor's grip, but couldn't get free.  _No no no_ , he tried to scream, but he couldn't form the sound and all that came out was a wordless cry of rage.

"Oh I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" the Falcon asked, holding one hand up to his ear-nub.  "I'm afraid I didn't quite catch that."

Davenport screamed at him. 

"Boy, that is a really thick accent you have."  He shrugged.  "But if our friend can't answer, I guess I'll have to pick for him.  Eenie-meanie-miney..."

Davenport shook his head.

"What's that?  You don't want me to cripple him?  You want me to spare this man?"

Nod nod nod.

The Falcon chuckled.  "You know, he could be one of my own men playing a role.  He's a stranger to you, you have no idea who he is.  This could all be a set-up."

"No, no, please, I'm not--"  The rest of Gregor's words were cut off when one of the guards gripped his throat.

Nod nod nod.

"You still want me to spare this man?  Are you sure?"

Nod nod nod.

The Falcon grabbed him by the front of his red jacket, and drew him so close their faces were an inch apart.  "Are you going to lie to me again?"

He shook his head.

The Falcon held him for a long moment, letting him stew in the silence.  Then he shoved Davenport and waved away the guards.  They carried the sobbing Gregor away.

Scritch scritch, went Quillbird's quills. 

He didn't try to lie again.

 

#

 

In the evenings, when he was led back to his cell, the other Merle was there to check on him and make sure he ate his dinner without choking.  He sat, mostly, in silence.  Occasionally he made a remark that would almost be genial, if not for the circumstances.  Like, "Rough day, huh?"  Or "The blisters will go away after a while," with a nod to Davenport's aching fingers.  He never offered to heal them, though.  So the blisters stayed, along with all the nicks and bruises and little burns that came from working on mechanical equipment without the benefit of gloves.  The fact that he didn't have the IPRE's budget meant that the materials were rougher and heavier too, which didn't help.  There would be no smooth titanium plating for him this time, machine-cut to fit together like perfect puzzle pieces.  Just sharp-edged scraps that bit at his fingers till they bled.

Just before bed, he would use the last of his daily water ration—if there was any left—to attempt to wash his hands.  He could never get them fully clean.

One evening, Merle surprised him with a deck of cards.  "You play Yooker?" he asked.  "Thought it would be nice, since you don't have to talk."

Davenport nodded.  _Yes_.  Anything to get his mind off the awful tedium between dinner and sleep. 

So Merle entered his cell, apparently completely unafraid that Davenport might hurt him (what would he have to hurt him with?  All he had was a compact mirror, two tin bowls and a chamberpot).  He sat down and began to deal.  A knot between Davenport's shoulder blades relaxed, just a little.

So his nights went.  He even began to look forward to them.  It wasn't quite the same as the games played on the Starblaster.  There was a weight to this Merle, a despair behind his eyes that always reminded Davenport that this wasn't the Merle he knew.  And this difference cast a shadow over their meetings.  But as long as he was playing the game, he didn't have to think about anything else.  And that was relief enough.

They'd been doing this for about a week when Merle pulled out a piece of paper and a stub of charcoal.  He set it on the floor of Davenport's cell without comment.

Davenport looked at it, raised an eyebrow in question.  Merle nodded.

He picked up the charcoal and wrote, _Does Flcn know? Will U get n trbl 4 this?_

Merle shrugged.  "He knows about the Yooker games.  He doesn't care, as long as you keep working.  Not like Yooker's gonna spring you out of here."

Davenport looked at the sheet of paper.  He had so many questions, and he didn't want to waste this opportunity.  But where to even begin?

_Y R U doing ths?_

Another shrug.  "Boredom.  Insomnia."

_Do U play Yookr wth Flcn?_   He wasn't quite sure why he asked this.  Maybe he just wanted to understand how similar he was to his doppelganger.  How much of the pattern of their lives coincided.  Did this Falcon care about any of his crew?  Was there a side to him Davenport wasn't seeing? 

Merle snorted.  "You play Yooker with your Merle?"

He nodded.  _Oftn._

"The Red Falcon isn't my friend," he said.  "He isn't anyone's friend.  He's my boss.  And he ain't exactly what you'd describe as personable."

Davenport sighed.  That was an understatement.  _Y do U wrk 4 him?_

Merle waved with one hand to indicate his black robes.  "I'm called to the service of the Lord of Ashes," he said.  "Makes sense to hang out where all the death is happening."  At Davenport's questioning look, he added, "Have you heard the Final Word of the Lord of Ashes?"

Davenport suspected that, just with his own Merle, he was going to regret giving him a platform to evangelize.  But he was curious, so he shook his head.  The Lord of Ashes was not a god he'd ever heard of.  Certainly not one from his plane.

"The Lord of Ashes reminds us that we are all naught but dust and ashes," Merle said, slipping into a preaching voice that was both droning and funereal.  "To strive for greatness is vanity, to strive for pleasure pointless.  Death is the only reality, the final balancer of all things.  It comes to all, great and small alike.  Why save the butterfly trapped in the spider's web?  The spider is not evil for feasting on blood, and the butterfly will die one day anyway.  And so we must always remember, we are naught but dust and ashes."

He fell silent, hands spread, as if he had laid his pronouncement on the floor before Davenport and it didn't matter what he made of it or not.

Davenport grimaced.

"Not a fan, then?" asked Merle.

How could he even respond?  Even if speech weren't an issue, he wasn't even certain how to wrap his head around death anymore.  Sure, he'd managed to avoid it so far, but that didn't undo the fact that he and his crew had a loophole that, as far as he understood it, was inexhaustible as long as these cycles continued.  They weren't aging, and death and injury were never permanent.  He'd even wondered, near the beginning, if time were truly passing at all…Or if they were simply reliving the same year over and over again, just in a different dimension every time.  Only the fact that the Hunger was getting noticeably bigger with each lost planar system proved otherwise.

So what did life mean when death was off the table?

He rolled the stub of charcoal through his aching fingers, thinking.  _If I accpt that, Hungr wins, Lrd of Ashs ends, evrthng ends._

Merle shrugged.  "Like I said, everything ends anyway.  If all of existence dies too, oh well.  Bound to happen eventually."  He smiled morbidly—something Davenport hadn't thought was possible on Merle's face.  "Maybe it's nice and quiet inside the Hunger.  Maybe those inside it have a sort of peace.  Ever think about that?"

Davenport shook his head.  He'd seen the Hunger's millions of malicious, ravenous eyes.  He'd heard their screams.  There was anything but peace inside there.

_I <3 life & will fight 2 protct it_, he wrote.

"Well.  Good luck with that."  He said it in the off-hand way that suggested he didn't think Davenport would win no matter how much luck he had.  "Anyway, it's getting late.  You should get some sleep, boss'll want you back at work in the morning."  He picked up the sheet of paper, and with a burst of black fire, immolated it.  And then he got to his feet and left without another word.

Davenport tried to clean off the charcoal with the last of his water, then tucked himself onto the narrow, uncomfortable cot.  But he couldn't sleep.  He kept thinking about what it might be like inside the Hunger, the screaming and the animal drive and the energizing hate. 

Most of his warren hadn't been fighters.  They wouldn't have been on the front lines, dying in battle.  They would have hidden underground, his vast extended family, parents and siblings and cousins, beloved elders and little ones.  Hoping they could hide from the apocalypse.

They would have been absorbed, not killed.  They were up there now, his family, screaming and angry and monstrously warped.

And what if he were with them?  Maybe it _would_ be a sort of peace, not to care anymore, not to carry this weight.  To just scream and scream at it all, at the injustice of life itself, to just tear it all to pieces and be done with the whole awful bloody mess of it. 

Maybe that's what the Red Falcon was doing.  Maybe that was his secret:  destruction that pushed past care into a sort of detached joy, a rage so pure and focused it became a sort of peace.

His stomach squirmed at the thought.  He rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of his crew.  His—his _friends_ , who loved him and who fought by his side, tirelessly dedicated not just to this mission but to each other.  He thought of Magnus's hearty laughter and Merle's thoughtful empathy, and Lucretia's silent love of everything she saw.  He thought of Taako cooking Davenport's favorite meals without prompting, whenever things got too rough and he stopped sleeping.  He thought of Barry offering to put another pot of coffee on during long nights.  And that first Group Spa Day, five cycles in, when Davenport had stood awkwardly outside the circle of his crew, stiff and uncertain, and Lup had slid up next to him and offered him a shoulder rub.     

He thought of all these things until the cold in the pit of his stomach began to warm.  His crew was still out there, and he had no doubt they would do what they could to help him and to see the Mission through.

He would hold on.


	11. The Whirlwind Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry is wanted. Lup unnerves a dwarf. Lucretia opens up a whole barrel of worms.

Lucretia found Barry next.  "You were right," she said, holding up a Wanted poster with his face on it.  The Vulture had more sunken eyes and a scraggly beard, but it was definitely Barry.  "Wanted for necromancy," she added, handing the poster over.

Barry took it from her, looking sheepish, as if he were the one who'd done the evil deed.  "Yeah, that's—that's him, all right."

At Barry's suggestion, they'd flown the Starblaster to the city that had the most well-regarded research university in the Farcry Desert.  And there, Lucretia had almost immediately picked up the trail of this world's Barry Bluejeans.  "He was a science professor at the university," she explained.  "But then he was accused of necromancy after he—um."  She swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

Barry nodded.  "It's all right," he said.  "Just, let's hear it."

She sighed.  "He was caught trying to resurrect his mother, after she died."  At Barry's stricken look, she hurried on.  "He was caught in the act, but he got away before they could arrest him.  Last seen fleeing into the desert."

Barry rubbed his face.  "Well, that explains a lot.  I was wondering what could, ah, what could convince a guy like me to get into necromancy.  I mean, you know how squeamish I am."  He tried to give her one of his familiar Barry smiles, sheepish and awkward.  "But that'd do it, I guess."

"Were you, um…close to your mother?"

He smiled softly.  "She's one of the most beautiful people I've ever known," he said.  He looked down at the Wanted poster, which was starting to crumple in his grip.  "I was actually kinda hoping I could—well.  Guess that's not happening now."

"I'm sorry."  And she meant it.  "Do you have others?  A father, siblings?"

He shook his head.  "No siblings.  And my father wasn't exactly…in my life.  From everything I ever learned about him, that was probably for the best.  Don't really wanna go seek him out this time.  Unless—heh—this is the world where Sildar Hallwinter Sr. is a good person."  He scratched his head.  "Not sure if that would just make it worse, seeing him."

Magnus raised a hand from where he sat sprawled on the common room couch.  "Hey, Barry, you're welcome to join me over here.  Plenty of room in the guess-we're-not-seeing-our-family club."

Barry shrugged and handed the poster back to Lucretia, and went to join Magnus on the couch for some quiet mutual sympathy.

"Found me yet?" Merle half-shouted from the kitchen. 

"Not yet, Merle!  Working on it."

"Well, how hard can it be to find a dwarven Pannite commune?  Just look for the greenest spot in this part of the world."  He stepped out into the common room, holding a pitcher of iced tea and a tray of mugs. 

Lucretia's heart swelled in gratitude as she plopped into an armchair.  "Lifesaver," she said, taking a glass and holding it out for Merle to pour. 

He smiled.  "That's the job," he said, pouring some for her and some for herself.  He took a sip and nodded towards the desert, which stretched out beyond the city limits, golden and seemingly endless.  "Now, I'm all for nice warm sand to dig my toes into," he said, "but what's the point of a beach without an ocean?"

"If I have to hear one more comment about sand getting into dwarven orifices," said Taako as he swept into the room, "I'm going to lose it."  He was sporting freshly-dyed electric-blue hair and holding one of the crystal-eyed spy-bats in one hand, its wings feebly twitching.  "Barold, have you seen my spell notes from Cycle 13?  The blue binder with the glitter."

"Uh, check the middle filing cabinet in the portside storage room.  Wasn't that the cycle with the weird mix-and-match arcane interactions?"

"That's the one."  He held up the spy-bat.  "Gonna see if I can find a way to pop the metaphorical hood off this baby and figure out how it's working.  All we know so far is it's some weird mix of enchantment and illusion on the crystal, plus necromancy on the bat-body."

"Huh."  Barry adjusted his glasses.  "That does sound interesting.  I might join you two in the lab later."

"I thought you weren't into necromancy," Lucretia said.

Barry blushed.  "From a purely theoretical standpoint of arcane interactions, it sounds interesting.  But I'm not planning to bring anyone back from the dead anytime soon."

"Naw man," said Taako, heading down the stairs to the lower deck.  "We got the bond engine for that."

There was a brief awkward silence after Taako left.  Lucretia suspected the others were thinking the same thing she was.  Nobody liked having to rely on the engine to fix the holes left behind when someone died.  They counted it a good cycle when everybody made it to the end together.  But this time around, that hope was looking increasingly distant. 

 

#

 

There wasn't much greenery in the desert cities.  But following the rumors of a Dwarvan commune dedicated to another nature god known as the Maiden of Plenty, they parked the Starblaster outside the small town of White River.  Lup, increasingly restless, went with Lucretia before she started blowing up parts of the ship.  She needed to burn off some steam; she'd be no good to Taako on their spy-bat experiments when she was like this.

Taako naturally declined, but warned Lup to call him the moment she came across any food worth his time.

"Aww, but I was totally planning to keep it from you," she said.  "Get some special chef secrets and horde them all to myself."

"Lulu, all the special chef secrets in the world wouldn't make you a better chef than me," he drawled.  "So, like, don't even try."

She shrugged.  "Well, I guess I'll just have to take consolation that I'll always be both older and hotter than you."

"As if."

"Baby."

"Dingus."

The Dwarven commune, though hospitable, was a bust.  There were no Highchurches there, though when Lup described the regalia worn by this world's Merle, one of the Maiden's clerics recognized it.  He said that it sounded like something worn by devotees of the Lord of Ashes, who was opposed to the Maiden in all things.  "We wouldn't abide the Ashen here," he said, then made a gesture that Lup wasn't sure to interpret as a ward against evil or a vulgarity.

"And if we were looking for a particular Ashen, where would we have the best shot?" Lup asked, while Lucretia scribbled notes.

The cleric gave her a look that silently asked her why anyone in her right mind would want to do that.  He tugged on his beard and shook his head.  "You can find the Ashen scattered almost everywhere around Farcry," he said.  "Life can be harsh, and there are some who find some small comfort in ceasing to care.  I believe they have a temple in Confluence."

"That's the capitol city of Farcry, right?" asked Lucretia, popping up from her notes again.

"Well, I wouldn't call it our capitol.  We're all fairly independent.  But it's certainly the biggest city."

Lup and Lucretia shared a look.  Lucretia wrote 'Confluence' in her journal and underlined it.

"Well, thanks for your time," said Lup.  "And if I wanted to go to the place in town with the best food, where would that be?"

The cleric smiled.  "Well, I may be a bit biased, but one of our congregation runs a tavern in town called The Smiling Maiden, and well, let's just say it has the freshest ingredients around."  And he winked.

Lup laughed.  "You sending us to a restaurant or a brothel?" she asked.  At the dwarf's furious blush and sputtered denials, Lup took Lucretia's arm and led her away.  Poor Lucretia was blushing almost as much.

The Smiling Maiden, of course, was a perfectly legal tavern that served only food and drink.  But the dwarf wasn't kidding about the freshness of the ingredients.  Which was especially impressive in a desert.  She ordered a roast desert hen crusted in herbs and served on a bed of sliced fruits and greens.

"You know what's really getting under my skin about the Raptors?" she asked, halfway through their meal.

Lucretia shrugged.  "Everything?"

She winced.  "Yeah, that too.  But you know how whenever we run into awful assholes, but we can't go up against them for whatever reason--diplomacy, or waiting for the right moment or whatever--I go off and blow shit up for a while until I feel better?"

Lucretia nodded.  "It's hard not to notice rocks and trees exploding in the distance," she said dryly.

"I like to imagine their faces on whatever I'm blowing up.  Makes it more cathartic, you know?"  She pointed a picked-clean leg bone in her direction.  "But I can't do it with these guys because they have _our_ faces.  I'm not gonna blow up Taako or Cap'nport, even if it's really their evil twins.  It's just…it's too close, you know?  Uncanny."

Lucretia nodded.  "I think I know what you mean."  She'd barely poked a fork into her own meal, which was a generous salad layered with strips of grilled beef and baked potato wedges.  "I only saw them from a distance, and even that was…"  She shuddered.

Lup slapped the table.  "Fuck it, I'm ordering us a couple of mugs of those local ciders.  I think we've both earned it."

Lucretia didn't disagree.

 

#

 

There was a bulletin board on one wall of the tavern, plastered with Wanted posters and missing person notifications.  They both checked it out, but they found no more eerily familiar faces.

Lucretia was still standing there when a tall half-elf woman in the white-and-gold uniform of the Border Brigade came up and pinned a fresh poster up.  It was another Wanted poster, but unrelated to the Raptors.  Just a pair of halfling brothers wanted for cattle rustling. 

The woman paused and glanced at Lucretia.  "Excuse me," she said.  "Have we met?"

Lucretia blinked.  "Um, I don't think so."  Normally she would think back and wonder if she'd run into this woman before, but in their current situation, she didn't wonder.  It was much more likely this woman had met the other Lucretia.  "I, uh, hope it wasn't because you saw my face on a poster!"  Shit.  Way to look suspicious.

The woman raised one blond eyebrow.  But she smiled, as if Lucretia had made a joke.  "No, I'd _definitely_ know if I'd seen you on a poster.  No, it was in person, I think."

"Um.  Sorry, I can't remember."  She shrugged.  "Do you, um, remember where you might have met me?  Because maybe we've met but I can be pretty bad with faces."  This was a lie; Lucretia was excellent with faces, a skill she was reasonably proud of.   

The woman thought about it.  "Have you ever been with the Brigade?"

"Oh!  Um, no?"

"A sister, then?"

A voice in the back of Lucretia's head told her to run with this.  "Yes, actually.  Yes, I have a sister in the Brigade.  We look very similar.  Sometimes get mistaken for twins."

"Hah!  I knew it.  Stationed in Confluence, right?"

"Yup, that's right!"

The woman held out a hand.  "Lieutenant Colonel Terra.  Pleased to meet you."

"I'm, um, Lucy."

The doors swung open suddenly and another small group of brigadeers entered, led by a middle-aged man in an even fancier uniform than Terra's.  His squarish face seemed permanently set in a slight frown.

The proprietor, a smiling dwarf woman, stepped up to greet him.  "Commander Burton, welcome to the Smiling Maiden!  We were informed of your arrival, and we've reserved our best table for you."  She waved him to a small table, notable for being the only one that had been covered in a crisp white tablecloth.  "We are honored that you've chosen our establishment.  It's not every day that the Whirlwind comes to town."

Lucretia gaped.  Lines of lyrics connected in her brain.  _The Whirlwind knows…_ "That's the Whirlwind?" she said, her throat suddenly dry.

Terra chuckled.  "Everyone expects someone taller.  But that's him, all right."

Commander Burton gestured with a tilt of his head, and the three soldiers with him took up places at the bar while he took the table.  The proprietor was offering him a list of wines and ales.

"I've, uh, heard so much about him," said Lucretia.  Thinking quickly, she added, "I know this probably isn't typical, but can I…can I talk to him?"

Terra raised an eyebrow.  "Interviews with the Commander of the Border Brigade are usually arranged through his secretary--"

"I know, but my sister's said so many good things about him.  I just wanted to--to take this chance to thank him personally."  She tried to give her most pleasant, don't-mind-little-ol'-me smile.  "Please?  Just a minute of his time."

Terra glanced over in his direction and sighed.  "I'll ask."  She approached and saluted her commanding officer, then murmured something in a low voice.  Commander Burton glanced up at Lucretia and nodded.  Terra waved her forward.

Lucretia approached, giving Terra a brief grateful smile.  Burton did his head-tilt again and Terra left them alone, joining the other brigadeers at the bar.

"So," he said, "Lieutanant Colonel Terra says you have a sister in the Brigade."  His voice was a little rough, like he was the sort of person who had to shout a lot.

"Yes, and she thinks very highly of you."

Burton gave her a small, tight smile. 

"I--I, um, wanted to thank you personally for the work the Brigade does.  My--my friend Cap was taken by the Raptors recently, and I'm so worried for him, but I know the Brigade is doing everything it can to stop these wicked villains."

At the mention of the Raptors, Burton lifted one graying eyebrow.  "I'm sorry to hear about your friend," he said.  "You've filed a report?"

"Of course.  It was the first thing we did.  I told them, 'We have to take this right to the Brigade. They'll know what to do.'"  She realized she was babbling, and fell silent.

He nodded.  "And rest assured, we will do everything we can to stop the Raptors.  So that people like you don't have to worry any more."

She smiled.  "Thank you, Commander.  I admit, it's tough not to worry."  She slipped into the table's other chair, prompting another raised eyebrow from Burton, but he only gave a resigned sigh through his nose.  As if she wasn't the first worried citizen to waylay him.  "It's just, nobody's been able to tell me anything about the Raptors at all.  They're like ghosts.  We don't know their names, their races.  I mean, they could be walking around town right now and we'd never know!"

"That's why we have patrols, ma'am.  So citizens like you can sleep safely at night."

"Yes, but…who are these people?  Does the Brigade know?  Who is this Red Falcon person and why is he doing this?" 

His face was a blank wall.  "Of course the Brigade is investigating all leads.  We take this very seriously."  He interlocked his fingers on the table and leaned forward.  "But these are sensitive matters, and I cannot disclose the details of our investigation.  You understand, of course?"

She nodded.  "Of course."  Her mind whirled.  What else had the lyrics said?  Something about the Whirlwind knowing the Falcon.  But maybe, if she took a different tactic…"Have you ever met a gnome named Davenport?"

Nice one, Lucretia.  Clumsy and blatant and probably hella suspicious. 

Burton regarded her for a moment, then leaned back in his chair.  "I'm afraid I don't recognize the name," he said.  "And if you don't mind…" 

In her peripheral vision, Lucretia saw one of the other brigadeers approaching the table.  She got up and hastily thanked him for his time, and headed back to Lup.  She glanced over her shoulder just once, to see the brigadeer conferring briefly with Burton.

"Tab's paid," said Lup.

"Good, I think it's time for us to head out."

Lup raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Burton.  She nodded, and they left the tavern.

It was dark outside, and the town of White River was mostly quiet.  Lucretia tried to whisper what had transpired and what she was thinking, but Lup quickly shushed her and pointed to her long elven ears.  So Lucretia fell silent, stewing over her suspicions.

 _The Whirlwind knows and will not say._   Burton knew something.  The look he'd given her when she'd mentioned Davenport had been--well, it wasn't angry, it wasn't surprised, it didn't reveal any sort of emotion.  It was just a look of appraisal, like a stone statue was looking right through her.  Maybe the Brigade did know who the Red Falcon was, but she suspected Burton's silence wasn't the silence of investigative discretion.

They were halfway through town when Lup finally took Lucretia's hand, gave it a quick squeeze, and whispered, "Don't look, but we're being followed."

Lucretia's back stiffened.  "Terra?" she asked in a low voice.  "Burton?"

Lup shook her head.  "A couple of dudes who were with them."

Lup guided her into a dark alley between two clapboard buildings, and drew a wand from her robe.  She flicked her wand at a rain barrel.  A pool of shadow spread from it, plunging the alley into pitch black darkness.  Their followers's footsteps approached and there was a sudden shout from one of them, and then Lucretia smelled the sharp odor of burning air as a magic missile passed an inch from her shoulder.  There was a soft roar from beside her as Lup cast Gust of Wind in response.  She heard someone hit the ground hard.

"Shit, one of them had dark vision," said Lup, tugging Lucretia along.  "Come on!"

Lucretia ran after Lup, and they were soon on the other side of the pool of Darkness, weaving between alleyways by the thin light of the moon.  They both glanced behind them, but there was no more sign of their pursuers.  Still, Lucretia had no plans to slow down until they were safely back on the Starblaster.

"Well," said Lup, when they passed the edge of town and the Starblaster came into sight.  She was huffing hard.  "I think we just opened up a whole barrel of worms."


	12. Quillbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davenport sees his past self. Magnus is offended. Lucretia ponders some deep lyrics.

Davenport practically threw himself back into his cell when the end of the day came.  He was desperate to get as far away from the lab as possible, as far away from HIM as possible.

The day had gone well.  Incredibly well.  _Too_ well.  The Falcon had been cheerful and pleasant, which was even worse than when he was visibly seething or in a rage.  Cheerful Falcon unnerved him, because he was never sure when the other shoe would drop or what would trigger it.  His muscles were one big knot of tension after a day when the Falcon was cheerful.

And what was worse was how much progress they had made.  Work that he expected would take a week was done in a day.  The tether port—the base around which the bond engine would hover—was mostly complete, and the engine itself was a rapidly-congealing donut of wires and cables.  Not yet activated—that was still a distant goal—but getting there, and faster than he'd prefer.  The Falcon had been on a roll today, egging him on, picking up ideas as fast as Davenport could convey them.  He was even starting to leap ahead of the explanations, making connections that Davenport himself had once made, back at the IPRE engineering lab.  The Falcon had been giddy with discovery, eyes alight in the glow of the Light of Creation.

Davenport sagged against the rough stone wall of his cell and rubbed his face.  Had he been like this, all those years ago?  He remembered how the Light had energized the engineering department, the whole IPRE, in fact.  Everyone had been coming up with new ideas left and right, and he had been no exception.  Even now, the Falcon was still in the lab, continuing to work.  Though what he was working on, Davenport wasn't sure; the bond engine was always at its same level of progress when he arrived in the morning.  The Falcon must have some side project going on.  Likely, it was whatever he intended to attach the engine to.

Davenport had once done the same.  Alight with a creative fire that had been unusual even for him, he'd spent his days working on the bond engine and his sleepless nights working with his teammates to design the ship it would attach to.  The ship that would, unintentionally, become his home. 

Gods.  There had been moments, throughout the day, when he had looked at the Falcon and thought he was looking in a mirror, or through a window into his past self.  How could they be so horrifyingly different and yet so awfully similar?

When Merle came for their usual evening game, he practically snatched the offered paper out of the dwarf's hands and wrote, _Wat happnd to Flcn?  Y is he like ths?_

Merle shrugged.  "Who knows?  He doesn't exactly talk about his past."

 _Mechanic. Engineer._  He underlined that last word with a firm stroke, and pointed to it with the charcoal.

Merle looked it over.  "Maybe."  He stroked his beard in a way that reminded Davenport painfully of his own Merle.  "Maybe you'll find out yourself one day.  You'll end up on the same path and find out exactly how an engineer ends up like…"  He extended a hand, waving it in the general direction of the lab.  "Well, you know."

_I'm NOT him._

Merle regarded him with sorrow.  "Entropy is the strongest power in the universe," he said.  "Maybe you're not him today, but you'll fall.  Sooner or later, we all do.  But that's just the way it is."

 _Evil not inevtble_ , he wrote.  _Rn't I proof things cd B diffrnt?_

Dark Owl—Merle—gave him a sorrowful look, and shook his head.  "You're not that different," he said.  "The Falcon's a part of you.  A hidden potential, just waiting for the right reason to come out."  He began to deal for their usual game.  "I'm sure you've had brushes with that side of you.  I'm sure you've thought some pretty dark things."

The glowing soul-crystal of the Robot Kingdom swam into view in Davenport's head.  It loomed huge in front of him.  He couldn't look away.  He swallowed around a sudden hard knot in his throat.  The air tasted like ash.

He had ordered his crew to destroy it.  He had ordered his crew to commit genocide. 

And if he had been alone, with nobody and nothing to stop him, he would have done it himself.  And he would have thought of it as a reasonable solution.  Sad in a distant sort of way, but reasonable.

He would have committed fucking genocide.

Merle snorted.  "I see that guilty look in your eyes," he said.  "I was right, wasn't I?"

Davenport set down the stub of charcoal.  His hands would not stop shaking.  He'd been trying not to think about the Robot Kingdom, trying to focus on the immediate problems of helping his crew and recovering the Light in this awful cycle.  But that damned crystal had been gnawing away at the back of his head since they'd arrived.  If Lup hadn't stopped him...

And now here he was, voiceless and trapped and at the whims of a madman with his own face.  And all he could think was, _I deserve this._

He doubled over, his throat tight with tears.  His whole body shuddered.  He began to cry.

And for a moment, for one terribly soft moment, he expected Merle to move to his side, to pat his shoulder, to offer some words of comfort.  Merle, who was kind-hearted and reliable and safe, who had seen his sorrow before and never thought less of him for it.

But this Merle wasn't the Merle he knew.  This Merle burned the paper to ash, scooped up his cards in silence, and said, "Well, I'll leave you to it."  And he turned and left the cell.

And Davenport realized that this wasn't his friend, no matter how much he'd deluded himself.  He was well and truly alone.

 

#

 

"Okay, so let me get this straight," said Barry.  "The head of the Border Brigade sent a couple of his soldiers to follow you just because you asked about the Red Falcon?"

Lucretia nodded.  "Though I don't think it was the Red Falcon that got him suspicious."  She glanced to Lup for confirmation.  Lup nodded; she had overheard the whole conversation with Commander Burton.  "If everyone who asked him about the Red Falcon suddenly disappeared, that would raise a lot of questions.  I think it was because I asked about the Red Falcon and dropped Davenport's name right after it."  She pulled out the sheaf of papers that was all the Raptor Ballads she'd collected so far. 

"And he definitely didn't send those dudes because he wanted to talk more," Lup added.  "The moment I tried covering our trail with Darkness, one of them opened fire."

"Definitely sounds like someone was trying to disappear a problem," said Taako.

"What the heck?"  Magnus sounded more offended on Lucretia's behalf than horrified.  "The point of the Border Brigade is to protect people!  Not shank them in dark alleys."

Lucretia pulled _The Falcon's Way_ from the pile and set it on top.  "Here it is.  'No, I don't know the Falcon's Way / But the Whirlwind knows and will not say.'"  The line's repeated, too, so it's more likely to be remembered."

Lup read over the lyrics, frowning.  "Well, the next question is, does he know the identities of all the Raptors and is hiding all of them, or is it just Evil Davenport he knows about?"  She glanced at Lucretia.

She tapped her fingers against her upper lip, a nervous habit she'd picked up a couple of cycles ago.  "I think it's just Davenport," she said.  "If the mystery lyricist is me, and if I were trying to slip a clue into the song, I'd write it differently if the Whirlwind knew about all of them.  _Falcon_ has the same number of syllables as _Raptor_ , so it would be really simple to swap one for the other.  But the writer is calling out the Falcon specifically."

The rest of the crew gathered around the common room table where she'd spread out the various transcribed ballads.  Barry picked one up and squinted at it.  "So wait.  Why would this person be doing this?  If it is this world's Lucretia writing these songs, and she's one of the Raptors, why the obscure hints?"

Lucretia frowned.  "I'm not sure."  Allen had been the third bard she'd collected Raptor Ballads from, and all of them had confirmed or at least suggested that they got their lyrics from an anonymous source.  The style and the vocabulary reminded her strongly of her own writing, and the letter Allen had shown her was written in a handwriting eerily similar to her own.  Her first theory was that Quillbird--as her double had been referred to--was seeding these dark ballads in order to sow fear of the Raptors around the land.  But now?  Something more was going on here. 

These ballads were still spreading fear.  But maybe they were also dropping clues, after all.

She'd been looking at these through the wrong lens this whole time.  She'd been combing the lyrics at first for hints about where the Raptors might be found, what was known about them, what their powers and weaknesses might be.  But now, she was hunting a conspiracy.  Looking for a message in a bottle.

"All right, everybody," she said, "take a ballad and get to work.  It's time for a study session."

 

#

 

The new bond engine was going to be hideous.  Davenport knew that as they began work on the steel plates that would form the ring-shaped casing.  With the limited equipment he had available, the plates wouldn't line up in size.  They would have to be bolted together, mismatched and overlapping each other to minimize gaps.  The overall effect would be like an armor-plated ouroboros, crude and jagged and endlessly swallowing its own tail.

But ugly as it was going to be, it would still be functional.  That was the biggest problem.  The Falcon checked his work constantly, and between his constant, sharp-eyed vigilance and the looming threat to hostages, Davenport hadn't been able to sabotage the thing. 

Where the hell was his crew? 

_They've abandoned you. Why do they want a captain who would order them to do such awful things?_

He gritted his teeth.  Even if they did abandon him, they'd never abandon the Light of Creation.  At least that was worth something.

He tried to push that thought away.  Gods, what was even happening to him?  His crew wouldn't abandon him.  He knew that.  He _knew_ that.  Lup had held his hands and given him a hug even after the whole incident with the crystal.  And Lup wore her heart on her sleeve.  If she'd been holding a grudge against him, he'd have damn well known about it by now. 

He tried to think back to that moment, to what it felt like to be cared for.  He tried to recall other moments of warmth and camaraderie:  the camping trip with Merle on their very first Cycle, the quiet evenings sharing a glass of wine with Lucretia, the first time Magnus called him Cap'nport back on the IPRE campus and Davenport knew, he just _knew_ he wanted this person on his ship.

But the Falcon loomed like a black cloud between him and his crew.  Like the Hunger swallowing any light he tried to find.

His head was suddenly yanked back.  The Falcon had dug his fingers into his hair, and he was glaring down at Davenport. 

"You pay attention when I'm talking to you," he snapped.  "I'm not keeping you around so you can fucking daydream on the job."  He held up a sheet of blueprints showing the pieces of armor plating.  "Now I'm gonna ask you one more time.  Do we hook up the engine to the Light and do the initial synchronization _before_ or _after_ we add the casing?"

Davenport picked up a pen.  _Test synch sevrl times while addng casng.  Final synch aftr casng._

The Falcon nodded.  "Fine, fine.  We'll have the Vulture assist--"

There was a knock at the lab door.  "Yo, Falcon, sir?"  Golden Eagle poked his head in.

"Oh my _fucking gods_ , Eagle!"  The Falcon spun on his heel, attention immediately riveted on the elf wizard.  "What the fuck is it?  I'm in the middle of something."

The Eagle winced.  "Sorry, sir, but there's, um, a scouting party that just came in.  Said they got a juicy target in range, real urgent."

The Falcon frowned.  He glanced at the Light of Creation, and at the half-finished bond engine.  "Fine," he growled.  "I'll meet them in the map room.  Vulture, Quillbird, keep an eye on the captain here.  Don't let him touch the engine in my absence.  Condor, make sure he doesn't leave."

Shit.  Well, there went his hopes of sabotaging the casing, at least for today.  He lifted his hands, one still clutching a screwdriver, and backed away.  This seemed to appease the Falcon, who turned and followed the Eagle out.  Condor waited by the door, his huge frame blocking it as surely as a scarred brick wall.  Vulture looked up from where he was crouched over a worktable, studying the Light.

Silence fell on the lab, the only sound the scritch of Quillbird's quills and the hum of power lines.  Davenport realized that this was the first time he'd been left in the lab without the Red Falcon present.

He glanced at Quillbird and the Vulture, briefly assessing his chances to get past them.  He knew they were both competent.  Lucretia and Barry were probably the least skilled fighters on his crew, but this version of Lucretia had at least a few levels of both bardic and abjuration magic, and this version of Barry was a skilled necromancer.  And then there was the Condor.  Any attempt to bolt was likely to fail, and he'd risk the Falcon's wrath, besides.

Still.  He put his hands down, and quietly slipped the screwdriver into his pocket.

Even if he couldn't make a break for it at the moment, he could at least take advantage of the quiet to rest his feet.  He sat down on a spare stool next to Quillbird.  She glanced up from her journal, then back down.

The Vulture cleared his throat.  "So, uh…Davenport?  I know the boss said to put other work aside for this project, but…"  He glanced warily at the lab's doorway.  "Can I ask you a question?"

Davenport raised an eyebrow, and shrugged.  It wasn't like he had much choice.

The Vulture rubbed the back of his neck.  He was blushing furiously.  "Do you think your Lup would, ah, go for a guy like me?"

What.

Davenport shook his head as emphatically as he could.  Lup and Barry were excellent collaborators, and good friends.  But this wasn't his Barry.  Lup wouldn't want to be in the same city as this madman.

"Oh."  The Vulture looked away, tapping his fingers on the edge of his worktable.  "Well, what about not all of her?  Just, you know…a little piece of her brain?"

What the hell?  NO.  He held up his arms in an X in front of him, like a referee calling foul.  He could not stress this enough.

The Vulture opened his mouth to protest, but Quillbird suddenly spoke.  "Vulture," she said, not even looking up from her notebook, "it's rude to lobotomize people."

"What?  She'll get it back anyway when she starts a new cycle.  That's how it works, right?"  He turned to Davenport, as if this were a perfectly reasonable request.  "So, you think the Light of Creation could be used to transfer brain matter—"

" _Vulture_."  Quillbird pressed the bridge of her nose.  "Drop it.  Please."

The Vulture sighed, glaring sullenly at the charred remains of a spy-bat that had fluttered in the night before.  He tapped the crystal, and it obligingly projected a flickering image of the Starblaster's deck.  Lup leaned against the railing, looking back and forth, apparently on watch duty.  She looked up, and for a moment she was looking directly at the crystal.  She glared, lifted her wand, and then the image cut off in a fiery blaze.  The Vulture sighed again, and started the recording over from the beginning.

Davenport rolled his eyes and got to his feet.  He crossed to the worktable, picked up a heavy wrench, and brought it down on the bat's crystal eye, shattering it in one decisive blow.  The image vanished.  Davenport set the wrench down, leveled a glare at the stunned Vulture, and returned to his seat.

The Vulture gawked at him, and at the broken spy-bat, his mouth working silently.  A soft snort came out of Quillbird.  Davenport looked up and realized she was trying hard not to laugh. 

He also realized this was the first time he had heard her speak, other than to cast spells.  In all the time he'd spent in the lab, he hadn't had an opportunity to interact with Quillbird at all.  She'd been sitting quietly in the background, transcribing notes, following orders and never bringing attention to herself.  He regarded her now.  She caught his eye, and abruptly the smothered mirth faded into a cool mask, and she returned her attention to her notebook. 

Curious.  There was something in her face that was a little harder than the Lucretia he knew, but it was no more than he'd expect from an ordinary hardscrabble desert life.  She hadn't displayed the off-the-deep-end nature of his crew's other doppelgangers.

What was she even doing here?  Gods, he wished he could ask her.

A moment passed in silence between them.  Her quill moved in quick, sure movements across the page.

She reached over and took his chin in her hand.  He started, at first, half-expecting sudden violence.  But her hand was gentle as she slowly turned his face towards her.  She examined him for a moment, and said, "Your eyes are kind."  She let him go, and continued working.  A sketch was forming rapidly under the tip of her quill.    

He shook his head.  He thought of himself as many things, but 'kind' wasn't one of them.

"It's true," she said.  "A cruel man wouldn't care.  But you do."

He glanced at her open journal.  She was working on a sketch of him and the Falcon bent over the prototype engine.  His own face looked haunted.

His hair was also a mess.  By habit, he pulled out his compact mirror and finger-combed it down again.

She laughed once, a soft "Heh" that was little more than an exhalation.  But it wasn't a mean sound.  The corner of her mouth tilted up.  

He opened his mouth to ask why she was here, but all he got out was a "Wuh" before he clamped his mouth shut in embarrassment.

She flipped to a fresh page of her journal and held it out to him, with a quill.  He took it with a grateful nod.

 _Why are you here?_ he wrote.  He felt the urge to write in complete words in Quillbird's journal.  It felt right.  _You seem too kind for this place._

She read the words, and a small wrinkle appeared between her pale eyebrows.  "I'm not a kind person," she said.  "I don't even think I'm a good person."

He tilted his head, a gentle invitation to continue.  She sighed, and was silent for a moment, taking in the lab and its scattered equipment and its half-built engine. 

"If I'm willing to do terrible things to some people in order to save others, what does that make me?"

Davenport's eyes widened.  He pointed to himself.  _That makes you like me._

"No," she said, "you're willing to have terrible things happen to you to protect the people you love.  But you won't throw strangers on the fire.  That's why you're doing this."  She tilted her head towards the bond engine.

He shook his head.  He wrote hurriedly, slipping back into his weird shorthand as it all came pouring out of him.  _I almst dstroyd 100s of lives 2 protct my crew. Thought it wd keep Hungr frm getting stronger.  But my crew stopped me. They found 3rd option.  I didn’t even think there cd B a 3rd option. 2 desprt for a win._

And then, even though this woman was hardly in a position to offer him absolution, he added, _I was wrong.  I am sorry._

She read over his words, her face unreadable.  She laid a hand on his and gave it a gentle squeeze.  "You _are_ kind," she said.  "A cruel man wouldn't carry this regret."

They were quiet for a moment, her hand holding his.  Then she said, very quietly, "If I disobey him, he'll kill my family.  For their sake, I've done…something terrible."

Even if he could speak, Davenport didn't think there was anything to be said to that.  So he only nodded, and squeezed her hand in return.

The Falcon's quick footsteps sounded in the corridor.  They let go, and Quillbird flipped to another page of her journal, obscuring his confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just had a couple of cool revelations. While doing research among the TazScripts for this chapter, I discovered that it was mentioned in canon that Davenport was the ship's engineer as well as being the pilot. I'd always kinda headcanon-ed it that way, giving Davenport an engineering background, though some writers just make him the pilot and make Barry the engineer/science/tech guy. It was just kinda nice to discover what I thought was just a headcanon to be actual canon. TazScripts also revealed that by the time of the Robot Kingdom cycle, Barry had been taught to fly the Starblaster, so that is also canon-confirmed :)
> 
> Also, while writing out some notes for this story, I referred to something that belonged to both versions of Magnus and literally wrote out the word Magnus's's, because that was apparently the best way my brain could convey that ^.^


	13. Secrets and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucretia meets an old friend. Taako shows his work. Davenport takes a train ride.

The city of Confluence took its name from the two rivers that drifted past it and joined together into one massive, slow-moving snake of water flowing down towards the distant sea.  The city sat on one side of this river, kept alive by trade and by the well-watered farmland that extended past its impressive walls.  It boasted several temples, a university almost as impressive as the Vulture's alma mater, the headquarters of the Border Brigade, and the Confluence Library, which also stored the Brigade's impressive Archives. 

This was the Starblaster crew's next target.

The study session of the Raptor ballads had yielded…interesting results.  Three separate ballads had referenced the Raptors traveling "From Marlyn Town to X."  X was variable, another town that scanned with the right syllable count, but the Raptors always came from Marlyn.  Another ballad referred to their group as "an echo of Bloody Monday," even though the Raptors hadn't existed when Bloody Monday happened.

Lucretia wasn't sure how to interpret this.  Other than Magnus, none of the known Raptors appeared to have been from Marlyn.  Perhaps Magnus had been the first Raptor, but if he had once been their leader and founder, he certainly didn't have that role now.  Perhaps the survivors of the defeated Cobras had formed the core group of raiders?  Either way, she felt like she had a handful of puzzle pieces and no idea how they fit together.

Hence, the Archives. 

Merle came with her to the city.  "You go in," he said, waving at the library's entrance.  "The dust aggravates my old lungs.  I'm gonna go track down the Temple of the Lord of Ashes."

Lucretia blinked.  "Is that safe?  You're…you're supposed to be one of their clerics."

He snorted and shrugged.  "I'll just tell 'em I converted," he said.  "It'll be fine."

She gave him a tight smile.  Merle was always so easy-going about these sorts of situations, and yet he always seemed to coast on through without a problem.  "Okay," she said.  "Let me know over the Stone if you run into trouble." 

He gave her a smile and a pat on the hip, and waddled off into the crowd. 

Inside the library, the Brigade Archives were secured behind a pair of iron gates.  They were easily passable by the public during business hours, as citizens were welcome to request certain local records from them.  That's what Lucretia was hoping for when she passed through the gates and found herself in a small office, facing a marble counter topped with iron bars that extended to the ceiling.  A young halfling woman in a Brigade uniform sat on a stool on the other side, reading a book.

She looked up and her eyes grew wide as saucers.  "Oh my gods!" she said.  "Lucretia, is that _you?"_

Lucretia was saved from her momentary panic by the nameplate on the counter.  "Holly!" she said.  "Yeah, it's me."  She matched the halfling smile for smile.

"Lucretia!  Oh gods, I thought I would never see you again!"  She hopped off the stool, and Lucretia heard the sliding back of a few bolts as a metal door to one side of the counter was opened.  Holly barreled out and threw her arms around Lucretia's waist.  Her hug was heartfelt and surprisingly strong.  "Geez, what happened?"  She stepped back and looked up into Lucretia's face.

"I'm, um, still trying to process it myself," she replied with a laugh.  "So much of it was a blur, you know?"

"I'll say.  When we heard you'd gone missing in the desert, we thought…"  She shook her head.  "We thought you were a goner, we really did.  We held out hope, but it was hard without you."

Lucretia crouched down, feeling weird about slipping into her double's life like this.  Like she was stealing someone else's joy, or fitting her hand into a glove that didn't belong to her.  Silently she apologized to Quillbird.  "I missed you too," she lied. 

"When did you get back?  Have you checked in with HQ yet?"  A sheepish smile crossed Holly's face.  "You might want to talk to Lieutenant Trent about your position with the Archives.  You've been gone so long, we had to, uh, fill your position.  We couldn't leave it vacant."

Lucretia nodded.  "That's understandable," she said.  "But yes, I'll speak to the Lieutenant.  Maybe they can find another way to squeeze me in here."

"Well, they'd be stupid to let your skills go to waste.  Come on, don't stand out here!  I'll take you back and you can see everyone else."  She led Lucretia through the door and locked it behind them.  She waved to a hallway that led into the back.  "I'd love to take you through and show you off, but I gotta man the desk.  You know."

"Of course.  We can talk more later."

"Yeah!  We should get together and have coffee at the café.  I've missed that, you know."

Lucretia smiled.  "Me too." 

"How about tomorrow, the usual time?"

"Definitely!"  If she smiled any wider, her face was going to split in half.  "Definitely tomorrow."

Holly gave her a thumbs up. 

Lucretia turned to head down the indicated hallway, when Holly asked, "How are your folks doing?  I bet they're ecstatic you're finally home."

She could feel her heart twisting inside her chest.  "My folks?" she asked, struck momentarily stupid.  "Uh yeah, they--they.  Um.  Struck speechless."

Holly smiled.  "I'll bet!"  At Lucretia's uncertain look, she waved her off with a hand.  "Okay okay, I won't keep you any longer.  Go talk to the Lieutenant."

Lucretia hurriedly slipped down the hallway before her mask could slip.  Her parents.  Her parents were _alive_. 

_Quillbird's parents_ , she reminded herself.  Still, it couldn't hurt to take a peek.  Just to see their faces again.  Magnus and Barry wouldn't hold it against her. 

As for Holly, well…as useful as it was to have a friend working in the Brigade's Archives, there was no way she could meet for coffee and a chat.  She doubted she could keep up this façade for the length of a cup of coffee.  Still, Holly seemed like a nice person who didn't deserve to be stood up by a good friend.  Lucretia almost wished she _could_ meet up and hang out.  Holly seemed like the sort of person she would like to be friends with. 

She shoved that thought down with a pang of guilt.  _Quillbird's friend.  Not mine._  

The hallway led her past several offices, all of their doors thankfully closed.  She caught the name "Lieutenant Trent, Head of Archives" on a nameplate beside one of them, and slipped past without going in. 

The main archives room was at the end of the hall.  It was unlocked, thank goodness, and the lights were off, meaning it was unoccupied.  She slipped inside and quickly closed the door behind her.  She tapped a lightswitch by the door, and several magical lanterns flooded the room with good reading light.  At least the Brigade took care of its poor archivists' eyes.

Shelves of binders and books stretched away before her, and the outer walls were lined with filing cabinets.  The cabinets closest to her were personnel files.  Well, then.  Might as well start with _Burnsides, Magnus._

She found his file easily enough.  It didn't tell her much more than what she'd learned from the old barkeep.  Born and raised in Marlyn, enlisted at age 19, about five years ago.  There were medical records, troop assignments, a list of battles he participated in.  The last one listed was the Battle of Broken Hill, where he was awarded the Sungold Medal of Valor for "distinguished courage in battle."  After that was a promotion to Lieutenant and an assignment in Marlyn, before his death ten months later while taking down the Shadow Stalker.

Lucretia sighed and slipped the file back into place.  She poked further into the archives, looking for information on Bloody Monday.  What she found instead was a flat file drawer dedicated to 'The Marlyn Campaign.' 

This was more promising.  It contained maps, troop listings, enlistment rosters, intelligence reports and tactical plans for a series of battles and skirmishes against the Cobras.  There was even a copy of an enlistment poster showing Commander Burton pointing out at the viewer, his face grim, with the words "I Want You /  For the Border Brigade" in bold text beneath him.  Apparently Bloody Monday had been the impetus for a campaign that lasted for months, ending in the Battle at Broken Hill.

She pored through it all, looking for any familiar names.  But the only ones she found were Magnus and herself.  She was listed at the bottom of several reports, with the words "Compiled by Private 2nd Class Lucretia, Archives Unit."  Magnus was listed on the report of promotions and medals given out following Broken Hill.  He was one of only two soldiers who were awarded the Sungold.

The second name was blacked out. 

She stared at the bar of black ink for a moment.  Why would something like that be redacted?  Medal recipients hardly seemed like the sort of information that would be classified.  And if the recipient had somehow done something to have the medal revoked, their name would still be left in, but a note added beside it. 

She set it aside and dug further.  She found no other obvious redactions.  But as she compared and cross-referenced, she couldn't help but get the feeling that the picture these records formed was…incomplete.  One record listed there being three companies at the Battle of Broken Hill, but four units appeared on the battle maps.  Troop numbers didn't add up.  A casualty report for Broken Hill was missing page 3. 

She frowned.  In one of her journals, she quickly listed all the discrepancies she'd noticed, then put all the records back as she'd found them.  She hesitated on the list of medal recipients, and its single mysterious black bar.  With one last glance at the door, she folded the sheet carefully, and slipped it into her pocket.

 

#

 

"Okay.  So.  Get this."  Taako spread his shining-gold hands with the showmanship of a born performer.  On the table in front of him, the spy-bat flitted its wings desultorily, unable to escape the arcane chains that kept it grounded.  "So after a bit of poking, Lup and I were able to pop the hood off this baby and see how it worked.  It's got some real fuckin' weird arcane interactions going on, but the short version is, it's a reanimated bat that's been stuck with an enchanted crystal that can record and produce illusions on demand."

Lup picked up exactly where he'd left off.  "We were hoping to scan back through its data to find earlier images, maybe even the interior of the Raptors' base.  But unfortunately this thing can hold only up to twenty minutes of images, which it can play back on loop.  So all we could find were twenty minutes of the Starblaster's exterior."  She tapped the spy-bat's crystal 'eye', and a ghostly mini-Starblaster hovered over the table.  Complete with a mini-Merle on watch duty.

Their tiny audience of two--Magnus and Barry--leaned forward to take a closer look at the hovering illusion.

"So that's great and all," said Taako with a dismissive wave of his hand.  "But why not see if we can make it fuckin' better?"

Lup grinned.  "So we did!"  She tapped the crystal and the image sped up.  Suddenly Merle was crossing the deck of the Starblaster at speed, his tiny Dwarven legs moving in a blur.  Barry speed-walked out onto the deck with a couple of mugs, one of which he handed to Merle, and their arms flapped like desperate birds as they sped through a conversation.

On the other side of the table, Barry blushed.  Taako smirked.  Barry tended to gesture a lot when he was babbling about some discovery, a habit he didn't seem aware of.  It was kind of endearing in a nerdy way.  Not Taako's thing, but apparently it was a thing to Lup. 

Well, there was no accounting for taste.

"We were able to cram this thing with an hour's worth of footage," said Lup, freezing the image.  Mini-Barry was in the middle of saying something, and his frozen face was contorted in an open-mouthed grimace.  Mini-Merle was smiling benignly.

"And--get this."  Taako waved a hand, and the arcane chains faded.  The spy-bat lifted up into the air and hovered over the table, causing Magnus to reach for his knife, his whole body suddenly alert.  "Scan Lup," Taako said clearly.

The spy-bat turned its crystal on Lup and stared at her for a moment. 

"Play back," he said.  The bat's eye flashed once, and displayed a hovering image of a mini-Lup.  He smirked.  "So apparently, this thing's command spell was last linked to Taako 2.  But since we look and sound exactly the same, it obeys me now.  I didn't even have to do shit to the command spell.  How cool is that?"

"Wow," said Magnus, suitably impressed.  "But…I mean, what do we _do_ with it?"

"Well, we won't do anything until Lucretia and Merle get back from the city.  Group consensus, and all that."  Lup nodded towards their empty chairs.  "But we were thinking, if we could get this into the Raptor base, we can have it scan around looking for Cap'nport and the Light.  That place was kind of a labyrinth, and knowing where they are would help with planning a rescue."

"Not a bad idea," said Barry.  "But what if, uh, Taako 2 finds it and gives it different orders?"

Shit.  He hadn't thought of that.

"Good point, Barry.  That is a risk."  Lup looked at the spy-bat.  "Its command spell is pretty simple, so if Taako 2 gives it new orders, it'll override our Taako's orders."

Then they were all four of them frowning at the spy-bat, pondering this little wrinkle.  Or, at least three of them were pondering.  Taako was pretty sure that Magnus was just mugging at it, as if wrinkling his forehead and squinting his eyes was a suitable replacement for actual deep thought.  Magnus was a solid dude, but 'pondering' wasn't exactly his area of expertise.

"Wait."  Barry sat up.  "Taako, what if you shifted the command spell so it obeys only Lup?  I mean--the Lup in there wouldn't give out orders, I don't think.  She didn't seem…well."  He looked up at Lup, then looked away again, blushing.

Lup met Taako's eyes.  "Actually, that might be a good idea.  And if Taako 2 is the one who generally handles these things--"

"I think the Vulture--uh, the other Barry--I think he helps with them too," said Barry.  "At least, the Falcon asked him for more scouts when I was there, so, he might be in charge of helping make them."

"Makes sense, if he's the one bringing back the dead bat bodies," said Taako. 

"Okay," said Lup.  "If we switch the command spell so it listens only to me, and send it in with orders to scout the place while avoiding Taako's and Barry's doubles, it might be able to get in and out without anyone noticing anything weird."

Magnus's wrinkled forehead smoothed, like he was finally done 'pondering' and had come, at long last, to an idea.  "Hey, I got a question," he said.

"Yeah, Maggie, lay it on me." 

Magnus smiled at him shyly.  "Can I name it Flappy?"

Taako slapped his forehead.  Beside him, Lup snorted. 

"Sure," she said, "you can name it Flappy."

 

#

 

Davenport was sitting in a train.  Outside the window, the desert sailed past, a shimmering landscape of golden sand that made his eyes sting with light.

The Red Falcon sat across from him, staring bleakly out the window.  Or, he thought it was the Red Falcon.  But he had both ears and a full tail.  He was wearing a uniform that was mostly white, trimmed in yellow-gold piping.  The front of it was splattered red with blood, and his shaking hands dripped with it. 

The Falcon sighed. 

Davenport opened his mouth to say something.  "Nice train," he said, though he wasn't sure why.  It was true, though.  This was a nice train.

The Falcon turned to him, and his face contorted in sudden contempt.  "You're so damned lucky, you know that?"

Davenport didn't know what to say to that.  He thought of himself as many things, but 'lucky' wasn't one of them. 

The Falcon glared at him for a moment more, then turned back to the window.  He looked so tired.  "Your crew always comes back to you," he said.  "No matter how many times they die for you, they come back."

The landscape outside vanished as the train entered a tunnel, and Davenport woke.

He lay still for a long time as the last threads of the dream faded.  It wasn't the first time the Falcon had haunted his nights, and he doubted it would be the last.  But every time it happened, he woke feeling voyeuristic, almost dirty.  Like he'd seen something he wasn't supposed to see.  Like it wasn't the Falcon haunting his dreams, but him haunting the Falcon's dreams. 

Outside his cell, he could hear the murmurs of brief conversation as the living guards posted in the hall were relieved by the next shift.  The slot at the bottom of his cell door was slid open, and he heard the clatter of tin bowls being exchanged.  Breakfast was served.  Which meant they'd be taking him to the lab soon.

He pulled out the compact mirror and checked himself in it.  Gods, he looked awful.  He was growing thin on a diet of broth and soft foods.  His cheeks were hollow and his red-rimmed eyes were underscored by deep shadows.  And the constant stress and the troubled sleep weren't helping.  Granted, he dealt with constant stress and little sleep on the Starblaster; but at least there, he had moments of peace, and he ate well.  He was surrounded by his crew, who always looked after him and gently nudged him towards self-care.  Gods, he wished they were here now.  He'd give anything to feel the warmth of their concern for him.

But now, he looked...feral.  Like a scraggly, underfed alley cat.  He still tried to comb his hair with his fingers to keep it somewhat presentable, but what even was the point anymore?  It wasn't like there was anyone here to impress.  And even if someone—his crew, _anyone_ —burst through his prison walls to rescue him, did he really even care what he looked like anymore?  He should just let his hair go and let it poof out the way it always wanted to, its natural gnomish springiness taking over.

But if he did that, he'd look way too much like _him._   Gods, if he was going to go that far, he might as well cut off his ear-tips and get it over with. 

Bile rose in his throat at the thought.  He sat up from the cot and reached over to the battered tin bowl of water.  He dipped his fingertips in, lifted up the compact mirror, and finger-combed his hair into submission.


	14. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucretia visits family. Davenport makes some connections, and lives with his regrets.

When Lucretia went to see her family, she went alone.  She told the others where she was going, just in case.  After the incident with Burton, the crew had agreed to step up their caution and vigilence.  But for this, she wanted to be alone, and nobody stopped her.

She suspected at least one of them followed her, keeping a discreet distance but making sure she didn't find herself cornered.  She appreciated that, and didn't try to lose them.

She guessed Merle, perhaps, or Lup.  (She would have noticed Magnus.) 

Her parents lived in a modest cottage in a nice part of town not far from the artisans' quarter.  Her mother, back on their home plane, had been a weaver, and her father worked for a bank.  She did not know what Quillbird's parents did on this plane, but her heart leapt when she saw a brightly-colored woven rug draped over a clothesline, drying in the evening warmth.

She got close enough to peer in through the windows, long enough to see first her mother and then her father, sitting quietly over an evening meal.  They looked older than she remembered them, their faces lined with care.  But there was enough familiarity that she felt her eyes water.  She wiped away the incipient tears and stared at their faces, committing them to memory.  She would sketch them as soon as she got back to the ship, sketch them in detail in a way she hadn't thought to do when they'd first fled their home and still weren't sure what had happened.  Back when she had still thought they might be able to go back. 

She did not go inside.

She headed to the cemetery next, and wandered the pale headstones in the deepening twilight until she found the one with her grandmother's name on it.  She knelt on the sandy, hard-packed ground, and ran her fingers over the carved name.  Grief squeezed her chest.  She closed her eyes and thought back to her home, tried to remember the smell of the spiced tea her grandmother always made on cool nights.  But this night was warm, and the smell of the land was all wrong, and her brain couldn't quite make the connection.

Footsteps scuffed in the sand behind her.  She glanced over her shoulder and saw a short dwarven figure waddling towards her.  "Merle," she said, just as the dwarf said, "Quillbird."

Her insides froze.  Not Merle, she realized just as he came into view.  He was wearing black robes trimmed in silver, and his face sagged with solemn despair.  She stood, reaching for her wand, but he held up a hand. 

"It's all right," he said, "you can put that away."

She frowned.  "Are you going to hurt me?"

He shook his head.  "Naah," he said.  He extended his arms to indicate the cemetery.  "This place is sacred ground to me.  Besides, you'll end up here eventually."  He glanced up at her, one eyebrow arched.  "Or will you, Miss Lucretia-From-Another-Dimension, whose ship keeps her unnaturally alive and youthful?"

She sighed, slipping her wand away and kneeling again.  "Honestly, I don't know," she said.

He knelt beside her, groaning slightly as his knees bent.  "Still.  You've come here anyway, to honor the dead."

She nodded.  They sat for a few minutes in silence, the only noise the rhythmic peep of desert insects.  At last, she gathered up her nerves and took a deep breath.  "May I ask you some questions, while you're here?"

"Sure.  But I may or may not answer."

Not unexpected, but she'd take what she could get.  "Is…how is my captain?  Is he…I mean, of course he's not in a good place, I know, but…is he alive and in good health?  Is he hanging on?" 

She searched his face for any reassurance, but this other Merle only blinked slowly and shrugged.  "Every day is one step closer to his grave," he said.  "'Course, that's true for all of us.  But I'd be lying if I said his path wasn't speeding up a bit."

"Oh."  She frowned.  That wasn't good.  "Could you at least give him a message?  Tell him we're all thinking of him?"

He shook his head.  "I could, but it won't help.  He already knows how this is going to go."

Fear squeezed her heart.  "What do you mean?"

He pulled a small dark book from the sleeve of his robes.  "Have you heard the Final Word of the Lord of Ashes?" he asked.  "The Lord of Ashes reminds us that we are all naught but dust and ashes.  To strive for greatness is vanity, to strive for pleasure pointless.  Death is the only reality, the final balancer of all things.  It comes to all, great and small alike.  Why save the butterfly trapped in the spider's web?  The spider is not evil for feasting on blood, and the butterfly will die one day anyway.  And so we must always remember, we are naught but dust and ashes."

He ended his obviously prepared sermon with a solemn nod.  "So you see, there's no point to him fighting.  And so the Falcon is winning their little battle of wills, because he knows the Falcon's victory over him is inevitable."

She stiffened.  "That--Captain Davenport doesn't believe that.  He would never give in."

"Maybe.  Maybe that's what he tells himself.  But underneath it all, he knows.  He knows.  Death swallows life, darkness swallows light.  It all ends the same way."

She tilted her head back.  Overhead, the stars still twinkled.  How many times had she joined her captain on the deck of the Starblaster to watch the stars?  Darkness had never frightened Davenport; darkness was only the clearing of the window between him and the rest of the universe.  "And what if you've got it backwards?" she asked.  "When light encounters darkness, the darkness is illuminated."

He shrugged.  "Easier to fall than to rise.  Just ask the Hunger."

She pursed her lips and looked away.  "And what about your Davenport?" she asked, trying not to think of the sight of the Hunger swallowing plane after plane.  "The Red Falcon.  How did he become…what he is?"

Merle gave her a sardonic smile, and pointed to his eyepatch.  "First time I asked him that, he took my eye.  I didn't ask a second time."  He shrugged.  "Ask me something else."

"Okay.  What about--what about Quillbird?  How did she end up working for the Falcon?"  She twisted her fingers together.  Barry and the twins had been able to tell her nothing insightful about her own doppelganger; only that she appeared to be just like her, except a little thinner, a little colder.

Merle stroked his beard.  "She made the mistake of being kind to him."  Another despairing shrug.  "She thought she could help him, I dunno…learn the error of his ways?  Get him to stop what he was doing?  It didn't work.  He took her in and told her he'd kill everyone she loved if she disobeyed him.  She fell in line quick enough." 

Her skin crawled.  "What?"  The word came out as a dry squeak. 

He waved a hand at the headstone.  "He didn't kill the grandmother, if that's what you're thinking.  No, illness took her long ago.  But Quillbird has other family."

Her mother and father, seated over dinner.  Their faces lined with quiet pain.  Quillbird had disappeared into the desert; did they know about the sword hanging over their heads?  Did the Falcon send them a sign, letting them know they were hostages?  Or did they wait in ignorance, wondering only whatever happened to their daughter, haunted by a grief without closure?

She stood.  She couldn't bear all of this anymore, she couldn't bear being next to this False Merle.  It was like standing next to a black hole that was sucking all her hope away.  She wanted desperately to crawl back to the Starblaster and be comforted by the real Merle, who always knew how to find joy in even the bleakest scenario.  The real Merle bubbled with joy, shone with it.  She wiped tears away with the heel of her hand. 

"Thank you for your time," she said, her throat rough.  And she turned and hurried away, unable to get away fast enough.

 

#

 

Davenport pointed to the detailed schematic on the worktable.  It showed an exploded view of the bond engine, and the Light of Creation at its center, dozens of strands of light connecting the glowing sphere to the engine's wires.  _Connection 44._   He looked at the Vulture, who nodded.

The Vulture stuck his wand into the Light and pulled out a glowing filament, drawing it out smooth as spider's silk.  Davenport used rubber-tipped tweezers to pull the correct wire from the engine's open hatch, and held it still while the Vulture brought the filament close.  Sweat dripped down his forehead.  He held his breath.

The filament touched the copper wiring and connected.  He paused for three seconds to make sure that the connection took, and released his breath.  On the other side of the room, someone exhaled, and someone else shifted from foot to foot.

Davenport peered past the engine at the small, huddled group of hostages that the Falcon had brought in for the final engine synchronization.  Half a dozen raiders stood around them, crossbows at the ready, awaiting only the Falcon's signal to fire if the synchronization failed or the engine did not start.  He took little comfort in the fact that all the test synchs had gone off without a hitch.  The final synch was as delicate as brain surgery, and the pressure in the room screamed against his nerves.

He'd tried to explain this to the Falcon, hoping to get the hostages to safety.  He wrote that the final synch required utmost concentration and that hostages would be a distraction, only making it more likely that something would go wrong.  He wrote that he could not work under such conditions.

The Falcon had raised both eyebrows.  "Okay," he'd said, and turned to his men.  "Guess we don't need 'em.  Kill 'em off, then."

The Falcon had taken delight at Davenport's panicked reaction.  "Oh, I see," he said, voice dripping like poisoned honey.  "When you said you couldn't work under these conditions, what you actually meant was that you _can_ work under these conditions, and you _will."_

Nod nod nod.

"Well then."  And he'd winked.  "Don't let me distract you."

The hostages had been standing for a good hour while he worked to painstakingly make all the connections.  There was Gregor the merchant, joined by a dark-elf woman and a young human couple who'd been traveling in the caravan that the Raptors had recently raided.  All of them were staring at Davenport with desperate fear.  Gregor looked like he was going to be sick.

Just one more connection.  He pointed to it, looked at the Vulture.  _Connection 45._

The Vulture nodded.  His skin was looking paler and even more waxy than usual, and he was sweating almost as badly as Davenport was.  He stuck in his wand and pulled out the final filament, while Davenport pulled out the requisite wire, moving carefully to avoid interrupting the flow of the forty-four other Light-to-wire connections.

Someone's breath caught.  He held very still.  The Vulture spun out the filament.

Catch.  Hold.  Wait. 

The thrumming seemed to start in his bones.  He drew his hand away.  The sound grew louder, and the Light pulsed once, twice, three times.  The bond engine, suspended by detachable armatures to the tether port, jerked once and began, ever so slowly, to spin.

He disconnected the armatures.  The bond engine held in place, hovering just above the port's central knob, the Light of Creation suspended at its center.  It picked up speed, crackling with white light.  The thrumming increased, then faded into a smooth hum in the back of his head.  There was a collective gasp in the room at the sight of it.  The ring spun faster and faster, till it was a blur of shining steel.

The Falcon lifted a hand and dropped it.  The raiders lowered their crossbows.  The tension bled out of the room at once, and Davenport sagged against the work table, feeling like a puppet whose strings had been cut.  He thought he heard one of the hostages start to cry, but he wasn't sure who.  His eyes were fixed on the amazing, terrible thing he had created.

And there was the Falcon, staring in wonder, his mouth agape.  "Beautiful," he murmured.  "Beautiful."

 

#

 

He floated in a daze into his cell.  He felt emptied, violated.  His hands wouldn't stop shaking.  _What have I done?_   The words pounded in his brain.  _What have I done?_

Merle—the Dark Owl—arrived at the usual time.  He sat and pulled out his Yooker deck, and dealt them both a hand.  Davenport watched this, feeling numb.  Like he was floating ten feet out of his body.

It should have taken him months to build a bond engine with their limited resources.  He'd done it in six awful weeks.  And he'd done nothing, _nothing_ to stop or even hinder the Falcon.  He hadn't spied out any useful information, or sabotaged the engine, or planned out possible escape routes.  The only thing he'd done had been to steal a gods-damned screwdriver with which he'd done absolutely nothing.  How could he have let this happen?

"Well," said the Dark Owl, as if reading his thoughts.  "At least all the hostages are still alive.  So there's that."

He winced.  Did that even matter at this point?  Whatever the Falcon planned to do with the bond engine, it was nothing good.  How many people were going to suffer or die because of what Davenport had built?  There wasn't enough water in the world to wash the blood off his hands.

"Hey," said the Dark Owl, reading his face.  "Whatever happens, it's out of your hands now.  And anyway, it doesn't matter."  He picked up his cards and looked them over.  "Just dust and ashes, my friend.  Just dust and ashes."

 _Dust and ashes._   His lips formed the words in silence around a tongue that wasn't there anymore. 

 

#

 

He didn't remember dreaming that night.  He remembered, vaguely, laying on his cot and staring at the ceiling, the Dark Owl's voice murmuring pleasantly from the other side of the cell.  And then it was dawn, and he was summoned to the lab.

His first thought was, why?  He'd already completed his task.  He'd given the Falcon everything.  But the Falcon wasn't one to be kept waiting, so he dutifully ate his breakfast, finger-combed his hair, and stumbled after the burly raiders sent to escort him.

He walked into the lab to find the Red Falcon leaning over the bond engine, the hatch open, his fingers moving around on the inside.  The Light of Creation, no longer needed, had been set aside.  The Dark Owl perched on a stool, holy book open on his lap, reading quietly to himself under his breath.  The Falcon looked up and gave Davenport a wide, lunatic grin.

"Good morning!" he chirped, as if they were old friends who'd been apart for too long.  "Come over here."

Davenport crossed the room.  The Falcon made one final tweak and shut the hatch.  Davenport couldn't see what he'd done.

"Look at this!" said his double, spreading his hands wide in mock-surprise.  "Look at how obedient you've become!  All I said was 'come over here' and you came, without a fuss, without even a moment's hesitation!  Like a little dog."  He hooked a thumb towards another work table.  "Fetch me that notebook, dog."

Davenport's stomach churned.  But he crossed the room and picked up the battered notebook, and brought it back.  Quillbird looked up only briefly before continuing to scribble in her own double journals.

The Falcon took the notebook and threw it over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving Davenport's face.  "Good boy," he said.  He flipped a switch on the engine's tether port, and the dark, sharp-edged circle began to spin.  The movement was wobbly at first, but quickly smoothed out.  A faint discordant hum made Davenport's teeth ache.  What had the Falcon done to it?

"Soooo..."  The Falcon slid up to his side and slung one arm across his shoulders.  He brought his mouth very close to Davenport's right ear, and whispered, "Guess who I killed this morning."

A shot of cold fear ran through Davenport's spine.  _The hostages—my crew—_

The engine crackled, putting on a sudden burst of speed.  It wobbled dangerously and for a moment, he thought it might go flying off its tether.  But it stabilized again, spinning faster than it had before.  Faint threads of bond energy wove across the circle.  But instead of the silvery threads he was used to, these were a sickly yellow color.

The Falcon laughed.  He ran a finger over Davenport's ear, which would not stop shivering.  "Ooh, you're so afraid," he cooed.

Davenport stared at the spinning circle.  The Falcon had modified the input channels.  This was a bond engine powered by _fear_.

Cold horror settled in the pit of his stomach.  The room seemed to tilt.  The engine crackled and spun ever faster, reacting to his fear and making it worse, causing it to spin faster and faster in response, a feedback loop of pure terror—

He sagged against the Falcon, who laughed again.  "Look at what we've made, Captain!  Isn't it beautiful?  Of course, I had to make some modifications to account for the unstable bond source.  But with just a little tweaking, the power spikes can be smoothed out, giving it just the right amount of kick."  He patted Davenport on the shoulder and shoved him away.

Davenport stumbled, knees weak, and hit the floor hard.  The spinning circle drew his eyes like a magnet.  He could feel it tugging at all the darkest places in his heart, a cruel mockery of the Starblaster's engine.

 _Why?_ he mouthed.  _Why?_

The Falcon smirked.  "Because I'm going to make the whole world afraid of me," he said. 

He waved one hand towards Quillbird.  "Oh sure, Quillbird's murder ballads have gone a long way sowing the seeds.  Bardic magic is an excellent weapon if you know how to wield it.  But this?"  He gestured to the engine.  "This is gonna be something truly special.  And we did it together."  He patted Davenport on the head.  "Good boy."

The room spun slowly around him as the engine's whine grew louder and louder in his head.  He couldn't shut it out.  He tried to breathe but the air tasted acrid, like ashes on his tongue, and it burned his throat.  Something vital inside him twisted and broke.  The world went dark, and he was falling, and falling, and falling…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, a chapter titled "Fear"! I'm sure nothing bad will happen in it :D Everyone celebrates a job well done with cookies and high-fives, and Davenport takes a nice, well-deserved nap.
> 
> And you, dear readers, get the first glimpse of the Falcon's plan! What's he gonna do with his new engine? Tune in on Friday to find out!


	15. A Battle of Wills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merle tells a story. Lup looks for advice. Davenport forgets.

By the time Merle returned to the ship, he was pleased to see that Lucretia was already there and being suitably coddled and comforted by the rest of the crew.  She was sipping a mug of Taako's special spiced hot cocoa, and Lup was brushing her hair.  When she saw Merle, she leapt to her feet and practically ran across the common room to hug him.

"Hey now," he said.  "It's all right."

She made a sound that was midway between a sob and a laugh.

Over her shoulder, he winked gratefully at Lup.  He'd contacted her over his Stone of Farspeech to relieve him of Lucretia Watching duties when another, more urgent matter had come up that he needed to attend to.  Glad to know that she'd brought Lucretia safely back to the ship, still a little shaken but unharmed.

"Oh Merle," she said, sitting back on her heels and taking a good look at him.  "I'm so glad to see you!  The other Merle is just awful."

He patted her on the arm.  "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I caught up to him and gave him a good talking-to after you left the cemetery."

She blinked.  "You confronted him?"

"Yeah, ya shoulda been there!"  He took her hand and led her to the couch.  "It was an epic battle of wills, good versus evil.  One for the ages!  Definitely something for your chronicles, at least.  Let me tell you…"

 

#

 

An hour earlier, in a dimly-lit tavern…

"…must always remember, we are naught but dust and ashes."

Merle picked up his frothing mug of ale.  "That's a load of hooey, and you know it!" he said, and took another swig. 

The Dark Owl shrugged.

"You're right about one thing, though," Merle added thoughtfully.  "The ale here _is_ pretty good."

"I like to think so."

"Another round?"

"Sure."

 

#

 

"Wait," said Magnus, "I'm confused.  Did you summon Della Reese to burn him with holy light before or after he summoned the flock of vampire bats?"

"At the same time.  It was simultaneous."

Taako snorted.  "He's pulling your leg, ya know, Maggie," he drawled.  "Dudes probably sat down for an old-man chat over cups of tea."

"That is base slander!" said Merle.  "It was ale.  Damn good ale, too."

Lucretia laughed, and a little more tension left her face.  She hugged him again.  "Never change, Merle.  Okay?"

"I'm not planning to," he said, giving her another soothing pat on the arm.  "And hey, whatever he told you, you can toss it out the window.  Guy looks on the bleak side of everything, and that's…that's a false view of the world, Lucy.  Sure, life has its ups and downs, and right now things are looking pretty shitty.  But thinking things are always gonna go bad is just throwing in the towel before the fight's even started."

She sighed.  "I know," she said, her voice very quiet.  "I'm just…what he said about the captain…"  She looked down at her hands.  "He's been with them for weeks, and we've just been doing this…this _research_ while he's probably being tortured or something, and I don't even know if what we're doing is going to help him at all!"  She frowned, shook her head.  "Maybe it seemed like a good plan at the time, but what if it's not?  What if I've just been wasting our time when we could've been…I dunno, just trying to blast or sneak our way in and rescuing him as soon as possible?"

The rest of the crew had fallen silent.  Magnus clenched his fist and looked out the window.  Everyone seemed to slide just a little closer to each other.

"Hey," said Merle, as gently as he could.  He took Lucretia's hands in his own.  "Hey.  If it makes you feel any better, that's just part of being a leader.  Sometimes we have to make decisions in the dark.  Heck, that's what it's like for Davenport all the time.  We don't know what's going to happen, and we can't predict every single possible outcome of every decision we make.  All we can do is think about what we _can_ control, and try to do our best.  That's all we can ask of ourselves.  To stay strong and do our best.  And Davenport does that because he's a strong guy.  And I think, if you look inside yourself, you can find that strength too."

Lucretia gave him a weak smile.  "Okay," she said.  "I can try."

"And I still think it's a good plan," said Lup.  "Much as I love blowing shit up, they got the drop on us once because we were unprepared, and we underestimated exactly how bat-shit bonkers they were willing to be."

"Yeah," said Taako, "and I for one don't want to end up a statue again.  And knowing Cap'n Crowbar-for-a-Spine, he's probably giving 'em a run for their money.  Probably has the whole place scouted out already, and he's built a mini-crossbow in his cell."

"Hey, speaking of research," said Lup, "Merle, did you find out anything useful during your old-man chat that may or may not have involved Della Reese and a swarm of vampire bats?"

" _Giant_ vampire bats," he clarified.  "And no, it was mostly him grousing about how we're all gonna die.  But I did find some useful stuff at the Temple of the Ashen."  He grinned.  The high priests there had been shocked out of their cassocks when he'd told them he'd converted to being a follower of Pan.  He could only imagine the confusion that would break out when the Dark Owl showed up, perfectly un-converted.  He'd love to be a fly on that wall.  "So he's not AWOL, or wanted, or known to have any sort of criminal record.  Apparently nobody knows he's with the Raptors.  All the temple knows is that he's a cleric in good standing, who went off a few years ago on something called a Harvester Pilgrimage."  He winced.  The concept left a sour taste in his mouth.  "It's something the Ashen do every so often."

"A Harvester Pilgrimage?"  Lucretia had pulled out a notebook and was scribbling this down.  Good.  Focusing on her task kept her from focusing on whatever depressing ideas the Dark Owl had put in her ear.

Merle settled into the couch and patted the spot next to him.  Lucretia sat down beside him, quill at the ready.  "Yeah, so, a Harvester is a term the Ashen use for anybody who causes a lot of death.  It could be direct or indirect, inside or outside the law.  Soldiers, careless adventurers, professional assassins, that sort of thing.  And sometimes one of the Ashen will go on a pilgrimage to find a Harvester and just…attach themselves to that person.  Follow them around, just to be where all the death is happening."

"So the Owl's following the Falcon," said Barry, adjusting his glasses.  "Makes sense.  The Raptors are certainly causing enough death and destruction."

"But wait," said Magnus.  "Even if these clerics aren't killing anyone themselves, they still might be…hanging around murderers?  And letting it happen?  That seems kinda illegal."

Merle shrugged.  "Yeah, I don't like it any more than you do.  But the temple has a sort of don’t-ask policy, so they're not culpable.  And I bet their clerics are really good at keeping out of sight."

Lucretia wrote all this down.  "Anything else?"

He beamed.  "I'm glad you asked," he said, pulling a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and presenting it like a rare treasure.  "Check this shit out.  I got his spell list."

"Whoa!  For real, Merle?"  Lup leaned over the couch, taking a closer look at the paper.  "This is amazing!"

"Well, I don't know which of these he leans on," he said, showing just the right amount of modesty, "but these are the spells he should have access to at his level.  The usual cleric spells for healing and buffing, plus some low- and mid-level enchantments we should watch out for.  Something called 'Call to Ashes,' a high-level enchantment unique to their order, dunno what it does but it doesn't sound pleasant.  Also, a healthy amount of spells for turning and commanding undead.  Which…well, if you're hangin' around dead bodies as much as these guys, it makes sense."

Barry peered at the list too.  "Guess I'll avoid summoning undead hordes to try to take him down, then," he said wryly.  Lup snorted at his joke, and he blushed.

Merle handed the list over to the others, who began passing it around.  "Well, that's all the intel I got for ya," he said, spreading his hands.  "Now if you'll excuse me," and he scooped up Lucretia's empty mug, "I think someone needs a refill."

Lucretia looked up from her notes.  _Thank you_ , she mouthed.

He gave her a warm smile, and waddled off to the kitchen.  Someone had to look out for these kids until their team dad got back, so it might as well be him.

 

#

 

"Hey Merle," Lup called, slipping into the med bay a little later, "can I talk to you?"  She was holding two mugs of spiced hot cocoa.

He waved her in with one hand, the other holding a watering can over a pot of medicinal herbs.  "Come on in.  Door's always open, just like my ears."

The smile she gave at his usual joke was weak.  She handed him one of the two mugs and shut the door behind her.  Not a good sign, but he was used to it.  Private worry sessions were always more frequent in difficult cycles.  So he took his usual seat and waited while she fidgeted her way towards speaking, first finding a good place to lean and then quietly taking a few sips of cocoa.

"It's about Cap'nport," she said. 

He nodded, waving for her to continue.

"Look, I know what you said about not giving weight to whatever morbid shit the Dark Owl was spouting, but Lucretia told me what he said, and…"  She looked at him, searching his face.  "You know Davenport best out of all of us, Merle," she said.  "I know he's strong but he's also…"  She sighed, and shook her head.  "He's not invulnerable.  He pretends that he is, I guess for our sakes, but he's not."

Merle nodded soberly.  "You're not wrong about that.  But he does what he thinks he has to do."

She looked away, regarding an aloe plant with critical interest.  A tiny worry-wrinkle formed between her carefully-sculpted eyebrows.  "I haven't told anybody else this," she said, "but ever since the Robot Kingdom, I don't think he's been in a good headspace.  And that was before everything went south with the Raptors.  And when he offered to swap himself for the rest of us, and…"  Her fingers clenched over her mug.  She set it down suddenly and ran her fingers through her hair.  "Gods, the whole thing with his tongue.…Merle, I'm worried about him.  Really fucking worried.  He's been in tough spots before, but never when he was this…vulnerable.  And he's stuck with that Falcon creep who's his own evil twin, and if what Barry said is true, the Falcon is hella good at getting under people's skin.  He played all of us like puppets, _especially_ Davenport.  If anyone in this world can fuck with our captain's head, it's the Red Fucking Falcon."

Merle sighed.  "I'd be lying if I said I didn't have the same worries," he said.  "Question is, what do you want to do about it?"

She shook her head.  "What I _want_ to do is rush in there and blast the Falcon into a pile of ash and rescue our poor captain.  We can't leave him in there much longer.  But we don't have a plan.  And if we rush in, it's just going to be another curb-stomp, and we might just get the captain killed in the process."

"What about that spy-bat of yours?  Is it ready to roll yet?"

"I think so.  Just about."  She picked up her mug again, and took a sip.  "I just think, if we're going to make a move, we need to do it soon."

Merle stood.  "Well, tell you what.  Get a nice long sleep, and first thing tomorrow, we call a group meeting and plan our next move.  We can't help Dav from out here, but I promise you, the moment we get him free, you and I can check in with him, okay?"

She gave him a grateful smile.  "Thanks, Merle.  You really are the best you out there, you know?"

"Hey, accept no substitutes." 

She knelt and gave him a quick hug.  "Wish I coulda been there to see you blast the Dark Owl with Della Reese," she said with a wink.

"Next time," he promised.

 

#

 

It was all over.  Just like he knew it would be.  Darkness swallows light, death swallows life.  The Hunger eating plane after plane until there was nothing left.  Inevitable.  Predictable.  Best to just let it happen.  Best to not even try.

All just dust and ashes.

Davenport couldn't feel anything anymore.  It was comforting, the numbness.  Not thinking, not speaking.  Just floating through, waiting out his days till the grave. 

Kinda funny, really.  How he once thought he could win.  He'd laugh about it now, but he can't remember how to laugh.  Or what laughter sounds like.  It's quiet, here in the dark.

There were others, once.  But they've forgotten about him by now.  Probably for the best.  He was a shitty captain anyway.  He never deserved the title.

Dust and ashes.

He thought he heard a voice, speaking somewhere.  Not that it mattered.  But it was a persistent buzz in this nice quiet space, like a bee trapped indoors.  A small, squeezed-down part of himself was curious what the voice was saying, but the rest of him didn't see the point.  He rolled over, burrowing deeper into the dark.

The voice grew louder, following him down.  It was talking about...something. 

Why won't it leave him to die in peace?

Someone was telling a story.  It was brief, so that was good.  But they kept repeating it, over and over again, a soft murmur of sound that _would not leave him alone._   He growled.  He wanted to press his hands against his ears, but he didn't have hands where he was, or ears.  Or if he did, he was too numb to know where they were.  His body was over there, somewhere.  Left behind, just like every other useless weight in his life.

The voice kept going.  "...but no matter how dark and difficult," they said, "this valiant crew kept going, and so their captain kept going.  Knowing, one day, that they would win."  A brief pause.  "Once, there was a brave captain named Davenport.  He built a beautiful silver ship powered by bonds of love and light.  He and his noble crew set out one day to explore the worlds beyond their plane, but were pursued by a terrible force--"

Why was the voice telling him this?  He'd forgotten all of this.  It was pointless.  He was a failure. 

But the voice kept going. 

A low, pleasant hum sounded in the back of his skull.  It reminded him of the soothing sound of the bond engine.  Thoughtlessly, he began to hum in tune with the noise.      

His feet tingled, like they were waking up after having fallen asleep.  Then his hands felt the same way, and then his whole body was tingling as feeling crept back into him like the tide.  He gasped, and felt air filling his lungs.  

He was in a cell.  Lucretia was talking to him.  No, not Lucretia.  _Quillbird_.  Her voice kept tugging him awake.  She reached the end of her story and began again.  "Once, there was a brave captain named Davenport..."

Suddenly, like clouds parting to admit a burst of sunlight, his mind snapped awake.  He jerked upright on his cot, every nerve in his body on fire.

Quillbird stopped talking.  Her body was tense as a bowstring. 

"Wuh?" he said.  What was going on?  What--what the hell just happened?

She shook her head.  "You were under an enchantment," she said, keeping her voice low.  "A powerful one that was sapping your will."  She glanced down the hall.  "We don't have a lot of time, so listen carefully.  Can you do an audio illusion to speak?  Just nod or shake your head."

He nodded.  An illusion like that was simple.  But it would only last a minute, so he hadn't bothered wasting his spell slots during his lengthy lab sessions.

Quillbird's gaze was intense.  "Can you make yourself look like the Falcon?"

The request was like a bucket of cold water in the face.  He nodded.  Technically he could, not that he wanted to.

She withdrew a key from the sleeve of her robes.  "Then I need you to do exactly what I say.  Will you trust me?" 

His jaw dropped open.  Wait, was this a jailbreak?

"Quickly.  Yes or no?"

He nodded.

"Do it."

He closed his eyes and concentrated, throwing the illusion over himself.  By the sound of her gasp, he guessed it had worked.  He pulled out his compact mirror, and his stomach clenched at the sight of the Falcon peering back at him, hair unkempt and eyes alight with quiet fury.

She opened the cell door.  "Come with me." 

He didn't hesitate.

"The crew are gearing up for a big raid tonight," she said quietly, as they passed several pairs of undead guards, all of whom had been ordered to turn with their faces against the wall, seeing nothing.  "The Falcon is resting right now but they'll leave soon.  We don't have much time."

The Condor was waiting just outside the lab door.  She stopped in front of him.  Davenport hesitated, heart pounding, before remembering he was disguised.  And the Condor gave no sign that he could see through it. 

"Okay, here's what I need you to do," said Quillbird.  "Go inside the lab and speak to the Vulture.  Tell him you need the Stone of Remembrance."

He took a deep breath and opened the door.  The Vulture stood hunched over a worktable, staring down at the Light of Creation, writing something in a notebook.  His back was turned to the door.

Good.  That was helpful.  He wouldn't have to worry about synching the audio to his lips.  "Vulture," he snapped, putting as much invective into the name as he could.  "Where is the Stone of Remembrance?  Hand it over."

The Vulture jumped.  He looked over at Davenport, watery eyes blinking.  "Uh--uh, the Stone of Remembrance?  You, ah--you know I wasn't able to get it to work right--the memory wavelengths couldn't synch properly, remember?"

" _Vulture_."

"Er, right away, sir!"  He scrambled over to a cabinet, and after rummaging around for a moment in a drawer full of loose amulets, pulled out a small red-and-black stone on a leather cord.  Davenport nervously counted down the seconds in his head.  The audio spell shut off before the Vulture crossed the lab and handed it to him.  So he just nodded, gave him another appraising frown, and left.

He met Quillbird and the Condor, and they walked a little ways back towards the cell block.  Quillbird kept glancing over her shoulder, as if to make sure that the Vulture wasn't following.

"Okay," she said, when they reached his cell again.  "Now, hand the amulet to the Condor, and tell him to deliver it to the other Magnus Burnsides."

Davenport raised an eyebrow.  He burned another slot and asked, "What's going on?  What is this?"

She frowned.  "It'll get necessary information to your crew.  Just…trust me on this, okay?"

He glanced up at the Condor.  "He's hearing everything, you know that, right?"

She shook her head.  "He's thralled to obey the Falcon's commands," she said.  "All he cares about is what the Falcon tells him to do."

Well.  That explained a lot.  He glanced up at the Condor, who only stared dead ahead.  He handed over the amulet.  "Deliver this to the other Magnus Burnsides.  The man who looks exactly like you."

The Condor nodded, and walked away. 

Quillbird sighed in relief.  She opened up his cell door.  "I can't get you out today," she said.  "You just need to trust me."

He looked at the cell he'd been trapped in for weeks.  A cell he'd never even tried to escape.  He sighed.  The spell's duration was almost up.

He pulled the screwdriver out of his pocket.  "Sorry," he said, and slammed the blunt end of its handle against the side of her kneecap.  She folded, gasping in pain.

He turned and ran.

He didn't stop.  He heard her calling after him but it didn't matter right now.  The lines of undead were ignoring him, because he looked like the Falcon.  If he was going to escape, it had to be now.  He could find his crew, and they'd plan and prepare and together they'd come back and blast their way through this place to get to the Light--

"Wait!"  Quillbird staggered after him.  "Come back, you can't--"

He saw the light where the tunnel opened up into the main cavern.  He could hear the roars and shouts of the Raptor crew.  Well, they were his crew now.  He could walk out of here and nobody was going to stop him.  Nobody questioned the Falcon.

He reached the head of the tunnel and found himself on a catwalk overlooking the cavern.  His whole body tingled as the illusion covering it flaked away.  He staggered to a halt, realizing in one sickening moment that he was exposed. 

Quillbird pulled him back into the shadow of the tunnel.  "You can't go that way!" she whispered.  "Every entrance and exit has layers of anti-magic wards on them.  They'll catch you!"  She moved between him and the cavern entrance, blocking him from sight.

A familiar discordant hum sounded in the back of his skull.  His heart began to pound, blood beating in his ears.  Oh gods no--

The crew in the cavern whooped and roared as something began to rise from the center of the crowd.  The Falcon hovered in the air, the tether port strapped to his back with a harness, the bond engine whirring behind him with a sound that made Davenport's teeth ache and his skin crawl.  An exoskeleton of black-painted steel and leather armor encased his body.  Stubby steel wings stuck out from behind his shoulders like blades, and huge metal talons encased his hands.  His head was concealed in a helmet that curved into the wickedly sharp beak of a falcon.

The Raptors screamed and cheered.  The Falcon waved one taloned hand in a beckoning motion, and the Eagle used Levitate to toss a boulder the size of his torso straight at him.  He caught it with ease in those massive talons, pneumatic pistons channeling the engine's power into the exoskeleton's limbs. 

The Falcon crushed the boulder into fragments.  The crew screamed louder.  The Falcon extended his arms beatifically, like a fallen angel pausing on his way to Hell.

The cavern fell silent.

"Raptors," he said, and even behind the helmet, Davenport could hear the gleeful smile in the Falcon's voice.  "It's time to paint the town red!"

The sound was deafening.  Davenport staggered back against the wall, covering his ears, trying to escape the noise and the thundering terror in his heart.  He just barely heard a clatter of footsteps on the catwalk just outside the tunnel.  "Hey Quillbird, that you?"

It was the Eagle. 

Quillbird waved Davenport back into the shadows and stepped out into the light.  "Uh, yeah, I'm here." 

"Good.  I'ma need you to help reinforce the fireproofing on Fire Hawk's cage.  Don't want her busting out before the main event."

"Er--yeah, I'll be right down."

"Don't keep me waiting, okay?  Got places to be tonight."

"Right."

There was a whoosh of cloak as the Eagle leapt from the catwalk and lightly Feather-falled himself down into the cavern.

Quillbird turned back to Davenport and pointed her wand at him, her face full of apologies.  " _Sleep_ ," she said. 

He woke up a minute later, just as the cell door shut with a hollow clang.  Quillbird stood in the tunnel, her mouth pressed into a hard line.  "I'm sorry," she whispered.

He frowned.

She looked up and down the tunnel, but it was eerily quiet.  The undead still faced the walls.  "Wait for my signal," she whispered, "and I _promise_ I will get you out of here." 

She regarded him, perhaps looking for some sort of acknowledgement.  She looked as haunted as he did. 

He sighed.  He couldn't hold this against her.  The base's layered defenses notwithstanding, if the Falcon was holding her family hostage, then any move she made to help Davenport would have to be done with care.  It would have to be a final gamble, when she was certain the Falcon could be permanently stopped, or when she had nothing left to lose. 

She held her hand out to him through the bars.  He clasped it and nodded.  She pressed her lips tight in resolve, and left.

Silence filled the tunnel again.  He stood waiting until he was certain she was long gone.  Then he turned away from the bars, opened his jacket, and slipped the key she had handed him into an inner pocket of his uniform. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And now we see the second part of the Falcon's devious plans! Tune in on Sunday and hold onto your hats, because spit's about to hit the fan!
> 
> (FYI, I'm playing a bit fast and loose with the D&D rules for the sake of narrative flow. So...go easy on me ^.^;)


	16. The Attack on Confluence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taako makes a leap of faith. Magnus gets cold feet. Lucretia gets a song stuck in her head.

They thought it was just a falcon.  A small dark shape soaring high against the night sky, hardly worth anyone's notice.  So the first night watchman, patrolling the walkway along the fortified wall that encircled the city center of Confluence, was taken off-guard when a pair of large steel talons clamped themselves tightly around his shoulders, lifted him and flung him over the edge.  He barely had time to cry out before he was gone.

And then another soldier went the same way, and another--plucked like rabbits from the wall by a shape diving out of the night sky.  Finally an alert went up, but the remaining soldiers didn't know where to turn, where to consolidate themselves.  The Brigade's main force was stretched thin across the most vulnerable border towns, and those that remained to protect Confluence were stretched thin across the walls.  And nobody knew where these attacks were coming from, other than the wide open sky.

And then a curious thing happened.  Everyone on the wall began to hear a song in the back of their heads.  A melancholy and haunting ballad, one they'd heard before, on dark evenings when the wind was howling and the night seemed full of monsters.

For a quirk in this system's plane of magic gave an unusual edge to bardic spells.  A backdoor secret known to only a select few, which, when exploited, could produce terrifyingly potent effects.  Even the IPRE crew didn't know about it yet, because none of them had thought to study bardic magic.

But Quillbird knew.  She had seeded the desert with songs of horror and dread:  songs of cruel Raptors carrying victims off into the sky, tearing them apart, and vanishing back into the shadows.  Untouchable, implacable, without mercy.  And that night, she plucked only a few threads of magic, and all those Raptor ballads dug their talons deep into the primal brains of people who'd been listening to them over and over again for years.

The soldiers up on the wall all heard different songs:  whatever had left the most impression, whichever one had haunted their darkest nights, that was the one that latched on and burrowed deep.  And the low whine of the Falcon's bond engine tugged on those threads, drew from them and amplified them.  Fear and panic began to break out.  Watch lines crumbled.  Posts were abandoned.  The ballads pounded at the back of their brains, telling them to flee, to run and hide or be killed.

And so they were not prepared when a flaming elf came out of the sky, screaming like a banshee, and blasted a massive hole in the wall.  An illusion out at the edge of the desert wavered and dropped, revealing a dozen battle wagons ridden by a hundred Raptors, throwing up a cloud of dust as they rode into the city's outskirts, heading straight for the wall and tearing up crops and homesteads in their path.

They thought it was just a falcon.

They were right.

 

#

 

Lieutenant Commander Terra ran through the streets of Confluence, heading towards the sound of the explosion.  A gaping hole had been blown in the city's granite wall, and brigadeers and civilians alike were retreating in disarray as shattered stone crumbled to the street. 

She caught one wild-eyed private by the arm as he went running past.  "What the hell's going on?" she demanded.  "Why are you running from your post?"

The man looked right at her, but didn't seem to see her.  "The Raptors!" he cried.  "They're coming for us…"

She was about to reprimand him for cowardice when she heard it, too.  A haunting song that had made her shudder one bleak winter night came back to her all at once.  _"The seven Raptors fly tonight, you'd better shut your windows tight…"_

Her blood turned to ice.  A wave of fear washed over her, telling her to run, to hide. 

_"They're sharpening their talons with their knives, and killing everybody in sight…"_

She looked at the screaming crowds, cursing under her breath.  It was some sort of wide-spread Fear effect, triggering mass panic.  Even she couldn't move.  Every nerve in her body was screaming at her to _run_ , but her legs felt like stumps rooted to the ground.  The private yanked himself from her numb fingers, repeating apologies as he fled. 

She took a deep breath and muttered a spell under her breath.  An Aura of Courage enveloped her with a flood of warmth, and the panic receded from her mind.  She turned and ran towards the shattered wall, dodging through the crowd, hoping to find a small group of soldiers she could rally within the spell's effect to get this situation under control.

She dodged a frantic pair of dwarves, a white-bearded elder tugging a boy along by the arm.  They looked around, panicked and uncertain.

"There's a shelter under the library," she said, pointing.  "Entrance on Baker Lane."       

The elder dwarf nodded, tugging his sobbing child or grandchild along.  Terra turned just as she heard a joyful screech from high up, followed by a blast of arcane fire.  More of the wall shattered, sending chunks of granite flying everywhere. 

A low, discordant whine sounded behind her, thrumming in her skull.  She turned and looked up.  A figure in strange armor was lowering slowly through the air towards her, calm and collected in the chaos.  A dark circle spun behind them, crackling with an energy that made Terra's teeth hurt. 

The figure came to hover about ten feet in the air above her.  They looked down at her, their face obscured by a helmet in the shape of a falcon's head. 

A chunk of granite arced down towards them, but the figure caught it in one huge steel talon.  Pistons hissed and the circle spun faster with a nauseating high-pitched whine.  The figure spun gracefully in mid-air, and used the momentum to fling the broken rock at a pair of guards rushing along the top of what remained of the wall.

Terra drew her sword.  "Stop where you are," she growled.  "Whatever you're doing, it ends now."

The figure tilted their head.  "Oh, I doubt that very much," said a light tenor voice.

And that was when the zombies arrived.

They poured through the hole in the wall, a shuffling crowd of dozens of corpses.  Terra's breath caught in her throat. 

"Where's Commander Burton?" the figure asked. 

"Even if I knew," she said, "I wouldn't tell you."

"Well then."  The figure spread his taloned arms wide, indicating with his single gesture the growing devastation behind him.  Fire burst along the top of the wall, springing from a flying figure in a fiery black cloak who laughed manically with each explosion.  "When you see him, tell him this is for him.  A gift from the Red Falcon—"

A silver ship came streaking out of the night, a glowing white circle spinning behind it.  A metal arm extended from its belly, grabbed the flaming figure out of the sky, and flung them away into the desert.            

The Red Falcon turned.  "What the fuck--!"  And he flew back towards the wall, leaving Terra facing down a horde of undead.

Well.  Not the worst odds she'd ever faced.  But certainly the strangest reinforcements.

 

#

 

The crew of the Starblaster watched through the helm windows as the Fire Hawk went sailing off back into the desert.  Magnus reset the ship's retractable robot arm to its Ready position, while Barry turned the wheel smoothly, bringing the ship around.  Taako watched the Fire Hawk disappear, trying to remind himself that that wasn't actually his sister.

Barry looked up at Lup rather sheepishly.  "Sorry," he mumbled.  "I feel bad having to do that to your, uh, but…"

"Oh, no sweat," Lup said breezily.  "She's crazy and she needs to go down."

Merle came back in from the deck, a pair of enchanted binoculars in his hands.  "Okay, we got a horde of undead breaching the city walls.  Evil Barry and Evil Magnus are with them, towards the back.  There's about a hundred raiders running loose, most of them concentrated behind the undead, hanging outside the walls and attacking the houses there.  Evil Taako's with them, and Evil Lucretia, who's at the very back, probably handling shields and buffs.  No sign of Evil Dav or Evil Me yet."

Magnus nodded grimly.  "They're probably letting the undead into the city first to get people panicking and to get the soldiers focused on them."  He maneuvered the robot arm to grab the front bumper of one of the Raptors' battle wagons, and flipped it upside-down. 

"So, uh, what's the plan?" asked Taako.  "'Cuz I dunno about the rest of you, but I'm ready to fuckin' cut loose on these assholes."

Magnus retracted the robot arm.  "Drop me by the raiders," he said.  "I'm gonna try to protect the folks in those homes down there.  Lucretia, wanna backpack me?"

Lucretia nodded, putting on her brave face. 

Merle raised a hand.  "I'm good with undead," he said.  "Well, good for me.  Bad for them.  Taako, wanna come with?"

"Sure, man."  He glanced at his sister.

She gave him a thumbs up.  "I can stay and protect the ship while Barry pilots," she said.  "And don't anyone go getting yourselves killed.  Even if we do technically have replacements, I don't wanna fall back on them."

"Yeah, they're shitty copies, anyway," said Taako with a smirk.  He took Lulu's hand and squeezed it. 

She pulled him into a hug.  "You're irreplaceable," she murmured into his ear.

"You too."  He gave his sister one more brave look, a look they'd shared so many times on this Mission, right before having to part on separate little-m missions.  And then they were both running onto the deck.

Barry pulled the ship near the edge of the Raptors' main living force.  Magnus looped a rope over the edge of the deck railing, and Lucretia hung onto his backside as he slid down it, whooping.  As soon as they were safely down, Barry lifted the ship and turned it towards the seething mass of undead.

They came in low, towards the back of the shambling crowd.  Merle cast some buffs on Taako and threw another shield around the deck of the ship for good measure.  He leaned over the railing and cast Turn Undead as soon as they were within range, which sent the zombies shuffling away, clearing him a landing spot.  Taako picked him up, leapt off the deck and cast Feather Fall.

Taako let loose as soon as he hit the ground.  He cast Magic Missile, then cast Dragon's Breath on himself, exhaling a cone of cold that froze some of the zombies in place while Merle shot beams of divine light in every direction he could point his stubby dwarf hands.  It felt good to finally blast something after weeks of tension and dread, but damn he wanted to get his Mage Hands on one of the Raptors.  In theory, Evil Barry and Evil Magnus were somewhere around here.  But he couldn't see them from his current vantage.

"I'm gonna try to get closer to the hole in the wall," said Merle.  "Gonna try to keep more of these assholes from getting inside the city!"

"Sounds like a plan, my man--" Taako began, but cut off when he saw a spark of fire arcing through the air, aiming straight for them like an angry meteorite.  "Shit--duck!"  He cast Stone Skin on both of them and shoved Merle to the ground.

The ball of fire struck the ground behind them, exploding in a cloud of fire and sand.  The layers of magical buffs kept most of the damage from Taako, but his clothes were pretty badly singed and it would take a long time to get the sand and the smoke smell out of everything, gods, he loved cutting loose but battles were so fucking _messy_.  He sat up and brushed himself off, glancing quickly at Merle, but the little guy was sturdy as a tree stump and Taako had taken the brunt of it like the champ he was.

"Thanks, man," said Merle.  "You okay?"

"Sure, my man.  Nothing a two-hour hot bath won't fix," he said.

Merle's eyes widened.  "Oh great," he said, pushing himself to his feet.  "Now we've got zombies that are on fire."  He gestured to the impact crater left by whatever had just landed, and yup:  flaming zombies were crawling out of it, groaning in distress.  Just perfect.

A chilling laugh cut through the drifting cloud of sand and smoke.  There was another flash of firelight, and Evil Lup--the Fire Hawk--climbed to her feet from where she had landed in the center of the crater.  She was also engulfed in magical fire.  But unlike the zombies, she was _happy_ about it. 

"Aw crap," Merle groaned.  "Of all the Raptors we have to face!"

The last of the sand drifted down, revealing her in all her blazing glory, standing in a circle of cooling glass.  She looked up at them with a cracked grin.  "Gonna catch ya," she sang, "gonna set ya on _fire!_ "

Taako stared down at her.  This broken-mirror version of his own beloved sister danced like a forest fire, all raging beauty and no control.  From this close up, he could finally see the wand-shard that Barry had told him about:  it stuck out of her skull and spat sparks like a frayed wire.  His fingers clenched over his own wand until he thought it might crack in his hands. 

"Merle," he said, "we're going down to help her."

"What?"  Merle stared up at him.  "Taako, this isn't--that's not your sister!  She just happens to look like her--"

"She's not my Lup," he said, jaw clenched.  "But she is _a_ Lup.  I'm not gonna leave her fuckin' hanging like this."  Lucy might never have found out the secret history of this world's version of him and his sister, but he didn't need that info.  He could extrapolate easy enough.  Probably had the same rough start, only in this world there had never been the IPRE, never an opportunity to excel and to be wanted, to be _needed_.  Never a chance to find a family worth caring about.

Merle grabbed his sleeve, trying to hold him back.  "But Taako, she'll just kill you!"

He looked down at Lup, who was readying a fireball.  Her livid eyes were fixed on Merle, seemingly ignoring Taako.  "She won't kill me," he said.

And he leapt off the edge of the crater, and landed on his sister's shadow.

 

#

 

Lucretia hurried after Magnus, straight into the fray.  He swung his sword, cutting Raptors down left and right, while she sprayed Magic Missile and kept up shields around both of them.  He twisted out of the way of a skinny little rogue, then grabbed him by the scruff of his leather vest and tossed him unceremoniously aside. 

"How ya doin' back there, Lucy?" he called.

She sent a Ray of Frost into the face of a burly half-orc who had been about to bring down an axe on her.  "Not my ideal vacation spot," she said, "but I could be worse."  She saw another pack of raiders peel off from a cottage they'd been about to pillage, and head towards Magnus.  She cast Light, temporarily blinding them.  Magnus spun on his heel and brought his axe down, making swift work of them.  She almost felt bad for them.  Almost.

Magnus grinned and gave her a thumbs up.  And then his eyes went wide, and he looked down at his feet.  "Uh, Lucy--" he began, "I think I have a little problem…"

His feet were made of stone.  He tried to move towards her but he was stuck to the ground.  The stone was crawling up towards his knees.  "Uh, little help?!"  His voice broke.

"Shit!"  She waved her wand and cast Dispel Magic.  His calves and feet softened into flesh again.  She lifted her eyes and, through the rapidly-clearing crowd of raiders, saw Taako.

No, not Taako.  Golden Eagle stared down at her and Magnus with cold contempt, wand extended.  "Well," he drawled, "look who decided to get in our fuckin' way." 

Magnus turned to face him and raised his shield.  " _You_ ," he growled.  "I hope you're ready to get your backstabbing ass handed to you."

The Eagle snorted.  "Hey man, not my fault you're all that stupid."  He turned his head.  "Hey Quillbird!  Take plenty of notes for your little ballads, because this beatdown I'm about to hand this thug is gonna be _epic._ "

Lucretia's eyes widened as her own duplicate stepped out from behind the Eagle.  She was gaunt, like the harsh desert winds had carved her into something thinner and harder, and her face was an expressionless mask.  Her eyes were distant and cold, like she was looking at Lucretia and Magnus from the surface of the moon.

Arcane energy began swirling around the Eagle's wand.  But before he could cast anything, Quillbird waved a hand, and a song began playing in the back of Lucretia's head.  " _Children runnin' 'neath a clear blue sky_ … _Seven shadows comin' from way up high_ …"       

A wave of fear turned her bones to ice.  She looked up, suddenly and utterly convinced she could see the seven Raptors descending, hungry for prey.  She opened her mouth, but all her words caught in her throat.

" _Like ashes thrown from a burning pyre...Seven deaths circlin' high and higher_..."

She cried out and ran.

"Lucy…?"  She heard Magnus's voice calling her, but she didn't stop, couldn't stop.  Must not stop.  But the eerie sound followed her.  Her shoulder muscles tensed, waiting for the sharp grasp of talons at any moment…

_"The wind's got its secrets, the breeze sings woe, woe, woe…"_

Strong hands grabbed her by the shoulder and she screamed. 

"Lucy!  Hold on, Lucy!"  It was Magnus.  "It's me, it's just me!" 

She blinked, trying to focus on Magnus's face.  Magnus, who cried at rom-coms and puppies, who was like the big brother she'd never had but always wanted.  Magnus who always protected the crew, whose heart was big enough to hold entire worlds.  She fell into his arms with a sob, her whole body shuddering.  "I can't--" she began.  "The song, the words are…it's some sort of spell…"

"I know," he said softly.  "I hear it too."

"But isn't it affecting you?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding slowly.  "But like just a faint nudge in the back of my head?"

She laughed bitterly.  "Guess I'm not as strong as you."  She wiped tears from her eyes and looked around.  In her hasty flight, she'd run to the very edge of the desert, and the sounds of battle could be heard only faintly over the next dune.  Her knees shook, and the faint urge to _run_ shuddered through her muscles.

"Lucy, you're not weak," he said, gripping her by the arms gently but firmly, holding her steady.  "I mean, sure you might not be able to lift cinder blocks over your head in our workout sets.  But you're strong in, like, the mental way?  You've just been knee-deep in those songs for weeks!  If they're doing something to you, it's no wonder the effects are so strong."

She took a deep breath, trying to firm up her spine.  He may be right.  Either way, she wasn't going to be overmastered by a bunch of words.  Even if being a writer meant allowing words to affect her, meant leaving her heart open to them, she didn't want to be affected like _this_.  "Okay," she said, "okay, I'll--"

"Huh.  Well, this is interesting."

She turned at the sound of Barry's voice.  Standing on the lip of the dune, looking down at them with a faintly bemused expression, was the Vulture.  Another figure lumbered up behind him, as tall and broad as Magnus but with a hollow expression.  The Condor.

"So, uh," said the Vulture.  "This is kinda awkward, but I guess I gotta kill you now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, the song heard by Terra may be sung to the tune of "The Shankill Butchers" by The Decemberists, the go-to band for all your murder ballad needs! :D


	17. How Magnus Dies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taako is on fire. Merle performs brain surgery. Magnus makes a gamble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for medical squick in this chapter. Also general mayhem and violence, since this is basically a big ol' multiway battle at this point.

At first, all Taako could see was fire.  The world was an inferno and he was at the center of it, trying to hold the core of this fire, arms wrapped tightly around it like his life depended on it.  But then it abated, shaping itself around his body.  He touched the Fire Hawk's hand and her hand stopped burning.  He pressed his cheek to hers and the fire that haloed her head died down, made space for him.  Heat still crackled the air around them, singed his hair and cloak and the brim of his hat.  But it did not hurt him.

"Burn?" the Fire Hawk asked quietly, her voice cracked and rough as a dry riverbed.

"No, Lulu," he murmured into the burned-up stubble of her hair.

"But I wanna…"

"I know."  He tilted his head, looked at the shard of wand.  Magic sputtered in red sparks from the jagged tip.

"You keep pulling these stunts, yer gonna give me a heart attack," Merle groused behind him.  "Can't believe I'm doing this.  But here I am."  He cast Turn Undead and the last of the flaming zombies stumbled away.

Taako managed a small, tight smile.  "Okay," he said, "I'ma try to pull it out, you heal her up as I work."  Holding her as calmly as he could, he summoned a Mage Hand.  He hesitated.  "Better put her to sleep, first.  Probably gonna hurt like a mofo."

"Uh, I've been tryin' ta knock her out since I got here," said Merle, frowning.  He waved a hand at her.  "It ain't working."

Shit.  Either the shard was preventing a Sleep spell from taking effect, or the Raptors had buffed her with a bunch of immunities before sending her off to rain hellfire on the city.  "Lulu, hold still, okay?" he said as gently as he could.  "This might hurt a little, but trust me, okay?"  He focused his attention on the arcane energy that flowed through the wood and through her skull and into her brain.  The Mage Hand gripped the wand tip and slowly began to pull. 

The Fire Hawk screamed.  Her fire flared up again, still shaping itself around Taako but nearly singeing Merle's beard off.  Merle dodged out of the way, but the golden light in his hands stayed steady.  An echo of that same light formed where the wand met her head.  Her scream choked off and the fire died down completely.  Her eyes were wide in shock. 

The wand's power was sputtering through her brain like a short-circuiting energy current.  Taako dampened it but didn't cut it off entirely, smoothing it out into an even flow that matched the flow of power in the rest of her body.  The Mage Hand pulled the shard out farther, and he managed the power flow as it worked, keeping it from burning out the new brain tissue knitting up behind it.  The Fire Hawk's whole body was rigid.  He rubbed his hand down her back, just like his own Lup preferred to be comforted.  Held her just firmly enough to show she was being supported but not pinned down. 

"Almost there…" said Merle.  "Just a little further…"

"Hold still, Lulu.  Almost done."  He winced as a small whine escaped her lips.

And then the wand was free, and the hole in her skull and skin closed up with a warm flare of golden light.  The Mage Hand flicked the shard away like a discarded toothpick.

The Fire Hawk sighed and fell limp in his arms, as silent and unmoving as a rag doll.

 

#

 

The Vulture raised his hand.  Purple-black necrotic energy swirled around it.  "So yeah," he said, "if you could hold still, that'll be great." 

"Yeah, how about no?" said Magnus, raising his shield.  "How about instead, we beat you up for being an evil necromancer?"

"Hey, necromancy isn't evil, it's just--uh, you know…uh, I'm really terrible at comebacks, sorry."  He shot the bolt towards Magnus.

Lucretia flicked her wand, and the bolt splattered against a shield spell. 

"Recycling!" said the Vulture.  "Yeah, that's what I should've said."  He awkwardly dodged out of the way of a pair of Magic Missiles sent from Lucretia's wand.  The third bolt struck the Condor in the shoulder.  He didn't seem to notice.

"You sent a horde of zombies to attack innocent people!" Magnus roared.  "That sounds pretty evil to me!"

"Oh that?"  The Vulture shrugged.  "I mean, I get that.  I, uh, I can see where you're coming from.  But hey, I mean, when the Red Falcon tells you to send a horde of zombies at the city, heh-heh, do you really say no to him?"  He waved his wand, sending another bolt of necrotic energy at them.  Magnus rolled out of the way while Lucretia blocked with another shield.

The Condor began to climb down the dune towards them.  Lucretia sent a Fire Bolt in his direction, and it slammed into his chest.  But he kept coming, as slow and inexorable as a boulder sliding down the sand.  "Uh, Magnus?" she called.

"Switch!" he said, stepping around her.  She focused her attention on the Vulture, while he sheathed his sword and drew the throwing spear strapped across his back.  He pulled back and took aim, trying to avoid looking at his duplicate's face.  Aimed at the chest instead, where Lucy's Fire Bolt had weakened the armor. 

Time to slow this dude down.

He threw the spear with all the strength he could muster.  The Condor didn't even dodge.  The spear struck him dead in the chest, piercing through his thin leather breastplate and punching out through his back.

The Condor looked down at the spear shaft sticking out of his chest.  Then he looked up at Magnus.  And he kept walking.

Magnus stepped back.  The buzzing fear he'd been ignoring in the back of his head suddenly tightened its hold.  "Uh…" he said.  "What the hell?"  He glanced over his shoulder.  "Lucy, I think he's immune to spears."

"I don't think that's possible!" said Lucy, looking in horror at the Condor.  She turned back to the Vulture and dodged as a sickly greenish-black Ray of Sickness missed her by an inch.

"Ah, heh-heh, he's not immune to spears," said the Vulture.  "He just doesn't feel pain anymore."

The Condor stopped a few feet from Magnus.  Magnus drew his sword, not sure where to aim next.  The head?  The legs?  Getting in close was going to be a problem with the spear shaft sticking out like that.

But the Condor made no move to attack.  He reached into a pouch at his belt, and pulled out a small amulet.  He looked up at Magnus, and down at the amulet.  He held it out to him.

The Vulture stopped throwing spells.  "What?  Condor, what are you doing?"

"Um."  Magnus looked up at his double.  "You want me to, uh, take that?"

The Condor held it out further, a slow slide of his hand that signaled, yes, that was exactly what he wanted Magnus to do.

The amulet was a small red and black stone on a leather cord.  There were no visible runes or symbols inscribed on it, nothing to indicate its purpose.  He glanced back at Lucy again.  "You think I should take it?  I mean, it could be a trap."

She shrugged.  "I honestly have no idea what's going on."  She lowered her voice.  "Vulture didn't expect it, though," she murmured.

Hmm.  Well, Barry was a terrible liar, and he thought the Vulture seemed pretty similar in that way.  So if it was a trap, it was unlikely to be _his_ trap, at least.  Magnus reached over and took the stone.

A cold wind blew through his mind, and the world winked out.

           

#

 

Magnus blinked.  He was still in the desert, but it was quiet and he was alone.  He was standing in a little ravine, the rocks pale grey in the bright light of a full, untroubled moon.  Lucy was gone, and the Vulture and the Condor were nowhere to be seen.  Even the distant sounds of battle had faded, leaving behind a sudden and complete silence that rang in his ears. 

He was looking for someone.  He--he knew that, somehow.  He was here looking for someone.  Private Williams, who'd been part of his squad.  But they'd been separated, and--

He heard a sudden gargling cry.  Williams dropped from the edge of the ravine and landed at his feet.  He was dead before he even landed.

Magnus drew his sword and looked up.  A short figure stood on the edge of the ravine, looking down at him.  The Shadow Stalker.  "There you are," he said.

"Lieutenant Magnus Burnsides," said the figure.  Magnus's heart said, _Cap'nport_.  But another part of him--this other Magnus, he realized--did not recognize the voice.

"So you're the one they call the Shadow Stalker," he heard himself say.  "I don't suppose you intend to come quietly?"

The figure spat over the edge.  "What do you think?  I've been waiting for you a long time, Burnsides.  I don't plan to give up just because you ask nicely."

_Waiting for me?_   "Why are you doing this?"

"Oh, you mean killing all those brigadeers?  They were just collateral."  The shadow vanished, and appeared on the other side of the ravine.  "It's you I want.  You're a...special case."

So it was an illusion.  Where was the real Stalker?  He glanced around the ravine, but saw no other movement.  "Do I know you?" he asked.  "If this is some sort of personal vendetta--"

"Oh no," said the Stalker.  "You haven't done anything to me personally."  The shadow flickered away and appeared on a rock behind Magnus, who whirled to face him.  "You haven't done me any favors, either." 

He was looking at an illusion of a gnome, wearing a dirty, blood-spattered Brigade uniform.  His red hair was a mess, and his eyes burned with hatred.  His fists were clenched tight, one of them clutching a dagger that dripped blood.

Recognition struck him like cold water down the back of his neck.  "Wait, I do know you!  You were that gnome who--"  He touched a medal pinned to his uniform over his heart.  The Sungold.  "The Battle of Broken Hill.  They gave us both medals."  He glanced at the gnome's uniform, where a matching medal ought to be.  But there was only a pair of small dark holes over the left breast, where something pinned there had been removed.  "We fought together--"

"We never fought together."  The gnome's ears lay flat like an angry cat's.  "You never even saw me!  Too busy following orders, too stupid to notice what was really happening."  He chuckled, and the sound was like acid dripping down his throat.  "`Distinguished courage in battle.'  What a joke.  What a _fucking_ joke."

Magnus tightened his grip on his sword.  He thought, _what happened to Cap'nport?_ as another part of his head thought, _This person is unstable.  I should keep him talking until I can figure out where he actually is._   "It was no joke," he said.  "We fought for a good cause.  The people are free of the Cobras.  Isn't that worth it?  Isn't that victory enough?"

_"Victory?"_ the gnome snapped.  He vanished again, and this time an illusion of only his head appeared, huge and flickering, glaring down at him like a judge pronouncing doom.  "A victory bought with the blood of _MY PEOPLE!"_   The words boomed like thunder down the ravine.  "Was that worth it, Burnsides?!  Tell me, did we pay enough?  Was the safety of your people worth the destruction of mine?!" 

Connections snapped together in his head.  "The Golden Valley Company..." he said, more to himself than to the gnome captain.

The hatred in the gnome's gaze was palpable.  "Now you're fucking getting it."  The illusion flickered again.  Either he wasn't very good at illusions, he was running out of juice, or his instability was making it hard to control the image.

Magnus took a deep breath.  "Listen," he said, "I can't--we can't always control how the battle's going to go.  We can only do our best.  But going into battle, every soldier knows that death is a possibility.  To die honorably is--"

"Oh spare me your fucking lecture, Burnsides."  The image flickered again, and he thought he caught a shadow moving behind it, up on the lip of the ravine.  Unfortunately out of range of his sword, but maybe...

"It's one thing to go into battle knowing you might die," the illusory gnome continued.  "It's another to be thrown under the wagon by your commander!"

The accusation struck Magnus like a blow.  This gnome had been the captain of the Golden Valley Company, so he would've taken his battle orders from Commander Burton.  But Burton would never--He didn't--

He looked up at the gnome's face.  "If an injustice has been done," he said slowly, as if to a cornered and angry animal, "and if you have evidence, bring it to the courts.  They will see that justice is done."

The gnome laughed.  "Justice."  He spat the word out of his mouth.  "They won't give me _justice_.  The Brigade already tried to bury me once.  What makes you think they won't just bury me again?  No, Lieutenant Burnsides, the only justice there'll be for the Golden Valley Warren is what I personally rip from the Brigade's still-warm corpses!"

Magnus brought his sword up.  "If you won't listen to reason, then I'm going to have to stop you.  Regardless of what happened then, I'm still here to protect the people of this town."

The gnome frowned, looking down at him like he was an insect waiting to be smashed underfoot.  "Are you that willing to die for the Brigade?  Even knowing that it's a nest of backstabbing vipers?"

He straightened, brought his sword up to the ready.  "I'm willing to die for the safety of the people I protect."

And Magnus realized with a chill that this was true.  This Magnus was ready to die.  He _wanted_ to die.  He had thrown himself into the Marlyn Campaign looking for an end to his grief, but it had spat him out again and handed him a medal.  And so he kept looking...

The illusion flickered out.  Magnus saw the gnome--the real gnome--clearly now, up on the lip of the ravine. 

"That can be arranged," he said.

Pain burst in Magnus's chest.  He looked down, and saw a crossbow bolt sticking out of him, blooming like a dark flower in the center of his breast.

He looked up again, and saw a second figure appearing over the rise, human-height and wearing a black cloak.

Through a fog of pain, Magnus heard the gnome sigh, as if all the anger in him had burned him out and left him exhausted.  "It's done," he said to the figure at his side.   "He's all yours, Vulture..."

And then the world went black.

 

#

 

Magnus snapped awake.  He was standing in the desert;  the noise of distant battle rang in his ears again.  Lucretia stood beside him, calling his name. 

"--us?  Magnus?  Are you okay?"

He rubbed his face and looked at the Condor, who blinked at him with placid, empty eyes.  Seemingly unaffected by the spear in his chest.  Because he was dead, and had been for a long time.

"I--he died…" he said, pointing at the Condor.

"It worked?" came the Vulture's voice.  He hadn't moved from his spot.  He was just looking between the Condor and Magnus, eyes alight with scientific curiosity.  "Did it actually work?  Did you see how he died?"

"Uh...yeah?"  He was still trying to process it.  He stared down at the amulet, blinking.  Cap'nport--no, the Red Falcon--Golden Valley?

The Vulture tugged at his hair.  "This is amazing!  I could never get it to work before…"  He waved in the direction of the amulet.  "It was supposed to allow me to see how my thralls died, but it never worked!  Too much difference, their memories too muddled, like my brain couldn't make sense of them--couldn't synch up right, you know?  But, you _are_ him!  So complete memory synchronization is possible--"

His rant cut off at the sound of a distant, piercing scream.  "Lup!" he cried, voice breaking.  He turned and ran in the direction of the sound, disappearing behind the dune.

The Condor blinked once more at Magnus, then turned and walked away.

Magnus sat hard on the ground.  He felt Lucretia's hand on his shoulder, even as his mind worked furiously to make sense of what he'd seen.  "The Falcon..."

"Yeah?  What about him?"

"Lucretia..."  Magnus looked up at her.  "I know why he's doing this."  His throat was dry, his words came out hoarse.  The Falcon wasn't just some crazed thief looking to pillage for wealth or power, or a psychopath who relished murder just for the fun of it.  This was personal.  It had always been personal. 

"He's looking for revenge."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've just hit the milestone of 1000 hits! Wooooo! Thank you all for your kind words, your comments and kudos. It means the world to me that you all are enjoying this :) In honor of this milestone, I'm whipping up a little present for you, my readers. I hope to have it ready by the end of the week, so watch this space for more details!
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you've enjoyed this chapter where we finally learn what the heck is the Condor's deal ;)


	18. What is Broken, What is Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lup. The Lup. The Lup is on FIRE!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for blood & violence, and temporary character death.

As soon as Taako and Merle dropped off the side of the Starblaster's deck, Barry angled the ship away and did a slow pass over the battlefield.  Lup leaned over the deck railing, blasting raiders and zombies alike, cutting loose with all the pent-up energy she'd been holding back for weeks.

_"Abra-ca-HELL YEAH!"_ she shouted, as an explosion from her wand sent a six-pack of zombies flying.  She scanned the battlefield and found a row of parked battlewagons clustered together, making a delicious target.  She glanced back at Barry, visible through the helm's windows, and pointed starboard.  He gave her a thumbs-up and turned the wheel, bringing the ship about. 

A screech of metal rang out behind her.  The ship lurched suddenly, and the deck tilted beneath her.  Lup grabbed the railing to keep from being thrown off her feet.  She turned just in time to see a small explosion burst on the bond engine's spinning ring, trailing smoke behind it.  A dark shape dislodged itself from the ring and flew up into the sky.

Barry was pushing buttons on the console and pulling the wheel about, but the engine was losing power and the ship's prow was angling towards the ground as it slowed.  Lup looked ahead of her, and saw a small burning cottage right in their crash path.  She pointed desperately to port-side.  The ship angled in that direction with painful slowness.  She waved her wand to tamp down on the flames burning the cottage, and winced as the edge of the charred roof scraped along the Starblaster's belly. 

The ship hit the sands with a powerful thump.  Lup gasped as the railing hit her belly, but she kept her grip white-knuckle tight until the ship came to a complete stop.  She pulled air into her lungs, one breath, then another, then another.

Well, shit.

She stood and looked around.  Their forward momentum had at least taken them past the main forces of the battle, so there were no immediate enemies in range.  She could just see the upper wall of Confluence behind the charred remains of a cluster of cottages and a tall rock formation.

And Barry--he was pushing himself up from the wheel, rubbing his collarbone and looking dazed.  "What the hell happened?" he called.  His voice was muffled by the helm's thick windows, but his meaning was obvious enough.

She glanced up at the white ring of the bond engine.  It was bleeding smoke from a torn-up panel.  "I think something hit the bond en--"

She was thrown forward as something heavy slammed into her backside.  She hit the deck, all the air knocked from her lungs as a heavy weight settled on her.  Someone or something was kneeling on top of her, pinning her to the deck.  A metal claw clamped around her shoulder, sharp points digging through her robe and into her skin. 

Her vision swam.  A faint discordant hum made her inner ears hurt and her stomach churn.  She tried to buck off the weight but whatever that awful sound was, it made her muscles turn to jelly and her bones to ice. 

She tried to pull air into her squeezed-down lungs.  "B-barry!" she choked.  The single word sounded so faint.  The awful whine swallowed it up.

Whoever was pinning her down chuckled.  "Guess again," said a voice that was almost, but not quite, her captain.

A pair of shots rang out.  She heard bullets ding against metal.  "Get away from her!" came Barry's rough voice. 

The weight lifted.  She scrambled away, rolling over onto her back to see what the hell was going on.  There was Barry standing on the deck, disheveled and holding a pistol salvaged from the Robot Kingdom.  But her eyes were drawn to the figure hovering in mid-air above them, a gnome in a suit of steel and leather armor, with wicked metal talons encasing his hands and a falcon-shaped mask concealing his face.  And worst of all was the source of that gut-churning hum that made her teeth ache and her heart wither:  a small but perfectly functioning bond engine, no more than a foot in diameter, slicing the air behind him.  As she stared in growing horror, it crackled with threads of bile-yellow light.

"So," said the Red Falcon.  "What do you think of this little gift your captain made for me?"

Lup swallowed.  Her fingers clenched tight over her wand. 

Well, _shit_.

 

#

 

Merle stared at the limp Fire Hawk cradled in Taako's arms.  Taako's eyes were wide and he looked about to freak out because she looked dead, and though Merle ought to be glad that one of the most dangerous Raptors was out of their hair, all he could think was, _Shit, I just killed Lup._  

But then she stirred, and sucked in a sharp breath between her teeth.  She opened her eyes.  "Taako?" she asked, her voice rough.  "Is that you?"  She reached up and rubbed her head where the wand had been. 

Taako smiled, but it was sort of a wry half-smile.  "Close enough," he said.

She sat up, giving him an odd look.  "What do you mean?  What happened?"  She looked around.  "Where am I--"

"LUP!"  The Vulture popped over the rim of the crater and huffed his way down to them.  "Lup, are you okay?"

"Barry!"  The Fire Hawk extended her arms and the Vulture skidded to his knees and pulled her into a hug.  "Babe!"

"Oh Lup, Lup!"  The Vulture was sobbing into her shoulder.  "I'm so sorry, I--the lab, there was an explosion and I tried, Lup I tried but I couldn't--"  He broke off, and just cried.

Merle put a hand on Taako's shoulder.  Taako climbed to his feet and gave them a little space.  In the end, even Taako knew this wasn't something to interfere with. 

"It's okay, babe, really."  The Fire Hawk pressed herself into the Vulture's embrace.  "I'm okay."

"Never again, Lup!"  He looked into her eyes and wiped a faceful of tears onto his sleeve.  "We'll never go that far again.  No power is worth that, okay?"

She laughed.  "Never thought I'd hear you say that!  But yeah, having a piece of wand stuck in my head wasn't exactly a picnic."

Merle sighed.  Damn, this made the two Raptors seem even more like the Barry and Lup he knew.  He could almost forget the creepy necromancy and the wanton destruction, and see just a soft-hearted scientist and a glibly confident arcanist who, in this shitty world, had somehow managed to fall in love.  What would the cynical Dark Owl think of _that?_  

He wondered if the Barry and Lup he knew would ever get together like these two did.  He suspected Barry had a crush, but Merle honestly had no idea if Lup returned his affections.  Still, they had time enough to figure it out.  Plenty of time, all the time in the world--

A bolt of magic energy arced down straight at the Vulture.  Only the Fire Hawk's quick wand work blocked it.  She looked up.  "Taako?  What the hell!"

Merle and Taako looked up.  The Golden Eagle stood at the rim of the crater, frowning down at them.  The tip of his wand trailed smoke.

"Just gettin' rid of a third wheel," he said. 

The Fire Hawk glowered.  She got to her feet.  "Taako, we talked about this!  You can't keep doing--"

"I kept him around because someone needed to keep an eye on you," he said through clenched teeth.  "But we don't fuckin' need him anymore, Lup.  It can be just us again, like it was fuckin' _supposed_ to be.  Before his stupid ass almost got you killed!"

"That was an accident!"  The Vulture was on his feet too.  "You know I would never have hurt her--"

"Yet here we fuckin' are, homie."

Merle and the good Taako were backing slowly away while this happened.  "Uh, I don't suppose…" Merle said beneath his breath, looking up at his friend.

Taako shrugged.  "Hey, this domestic dispute is _their_ problem," he said, flicking sand off his singed robe.  "Far as I'm concerned, I've done my part."

"We were lab partners!"  The Fire Hawk's hands were starting to catch fire again.  She didn't even see Merle and Good Taako slipping quietly back up the crater.  Her attention was deadlocked on her brother.  "That accident was as much my fault as his, and you know it."

"Never woulda happened if you hadn't picked him in the first place."

The Fire Hawk stomped her foot, sending crazed cracks through the sand glass.  "Taako," she said, "we've been over this.  Don't make me choose between you!"

But The Eagle's face was a cold mask, revealing nothing.  "You already made your choice," he said.  And then he vanished.

The Fire Hawk screeched through her clenched teeth.  The Vulture raised his hands to set them on her shoulders, but hesitated before making contact.  She sighed.  "I'm sorry, Barry, I have to take care of this."

"I…I understand."

"And you two."  She turned, and Merle thought he was going to have a heart attack when her attention shifted to them.

Taako stopped halfway up the crater and turned.  "Yeah?"

She regarded him in silence for a moment, her brow wrinkled like she was trying hard to remember him.  "You…you're Taako and Merle from another dimension, right?"

Taako nodded slightly.  "Yeah."

A corner of her mouth tilted up in a smile.  "Thanks," she said.  "I guess I owe you one."

Taako shrugged.  "No biggie."

"Yeah," said Merle, feeling a bit braver now that she wasn't obviously going to blast them.  "Just your average day in the life of interdimensional heroes."

She snorted.  "Diggin' the new attitude, Merle.  Much cooler than Dark Owl!  Anyway, you two stay cool.  I gotta go beat some sense into my other brother."  And she turned and flew off into the night sky, black robes flapping behind her.

The Vulture sighed.  He blinked at them through his thick glasses, then looked down at his feet with a sheepish, awkward smile.  "Uh, thanks," he said.  Then he disappeared in a wrinkle of dark air.

Merle turned to Taako.  "Well," he said, "that went better than expected."

Taako stared at the disappearing speck that was the Fire Hawk, and nodded.  "Yeah," he said.  "Let's go kick some more zombie ass."

"Sounds like a plan," said Merle.  And they turned to the lip of the crater.

A shriek of tearing metal and a distant explosion reached them over the sound of battle.  Merle looked up and saw the Starblaster lurch to the side and dip down towards the ground, the bond engine spitting fire and smoke behind it.  And he thought, for the third time that night, that he was going to have a heart attack. 

 

#

 

Lup ruthlessly pushed away the fear buzzing in the back of her skull.  The Red Falcon using a mini-bond engine conjured up all sorts of terrible scenarios in her head, but she wasn't about to let this bastard catch her freaking out.  "A falcon-shaped power suit?  Really?" she said, keeping her voice light.  She wiped a bit of blood from her nose.  "A bit over the top, don't you think?"

"What can I say?  I've always enjoyed putting on a good show."  The Falcon clenched one talon like a steel trap. 

"Well, if that's the case, how about some show-stopping special effects?"  She drew her wand, the dark cherrywood that she saved for special occasions.  The tip caught fire.  "'Cause this shit you're pulling ends right now."

"Huh.  You're the second person who's told me that tonight.  And you'll be the second person who's dead wrong."    

"I might just surprise you," she said, and sent a blast of Magic Missile at him.  He leapt up higher, avoiding them and arcing toward her, trying to get in close for a melee attack.  She rolled out of the way, and sent a Scorching Ray that went wide as he twisted away in mid-air.

She flung an Arcane Bolt in his direction, but he was a quick little bastard.  He flew like Davenport piloted, like he was dancing, like it was _fun_ for him to roll and twist through the air, narrowly avoiding her strikes.  He was laughing.

He landed on the deck, arms spread wide.  "Come on, are you going to hit me or aren't you?"

He was goading her.  Barry stood behind him, gun raised for a shot at his backside.  Both of them had perfect shots.  But if he dodged, if they missed—they'd be in each other's line of fire.

She caught Barry's eyes.  This wasn't their first rodeo.  He signaled with a slight tilt of his head.  They both stepped portwise at the same time, turning their three-point line into a triangle and swinging their weapons towards the Falcon.

He leapt back into the air, his ploy failed.  Lup opted for a change in tactics, blasting him with a Gust of Wind.

It struck him—but didn't knock him back at all.  Like the wind had just blown through him.  Lup had just enough time to hear the low whine of his bond engine behind her just as she was slammed forward, sprawling onto the deck and passing through the illusory Falcon she'd been attacking the whole time.

The real Falcon landed on top of her, and struck her again with a talon clenched tight into a fist like a cannonball.  And then he leapt away again as Barry fired two shots, both ricocheting off the armored suit.  He vanished.

She staggered to her feet.  So he was a much better illusionist than Davenport.  Fucking gnomes and their illusions.

Where was he now?  She wished Lucretia were here.  She could use some good old abjuration right about now.

"Lup—" Barry began, then staggered forward.  The point of a dagger stuck out of the front of his white t-shirt.  The Falcon shimmered into visibility behind him, and shoved him forward.

Barry fell to his knees, eyes wide.  He coughed, and blood spurted out of his mouth.   The Falcon reached around and slid one extended talon across his neck, slicing Barry's throat.  Barry gaped at Lup, and slid to the deck with a sigh.

"Well," said the Falcon.  "One down."

Lup saw red.  Blood roared in her ears.  "Fuck.  You," she growled, and lit up the gods-damned deck with fire.  Cones of flame blasted in every direction, Scorching Rays and Arcane Bolts and Magic Missiles flew at the Falcon, and she was so furious she couldn't even see if she was hitting him or not, but there was no way she was going to miss this fucker if she hit everywhere at once—

"—Lup, Lup!  Stop!"  Barry's voice cut through the noise, a note of panic reaching her over her rage.  "It's just an illusion!"

She blinked.  The Barry-corpse vanished.  She was standing on a smoking deck, the surface scorched beneath her feet.  Barry, beautiful Barry who was still alive thank every god there was, poked around the corner of the helm with its cracked windows, where he'd ducked to avoid her blasts.

The Falcon laughed.  She spun to face him.  He drifted smoothly down from above her, the whine of the bond engine making her feel sick to her stomach.  "Well, well," he said.  "It seems you enjoy pointless destruction almost as much as my Fire Hawk does."

Lup forced a defiant smirk, trying to keep her hands and voice from shaking.  "What can I say?  I've really been looking forward to blasting your ass."

"Oh, I'm sure."  He extended his arms to indicate the scorched deck.  "And yet you've been wasting your spell slots and your time, and you haven't even touched me—"

She shot a Scorching Ray over her shoulder, and smiled at the Falcon's gasp as the bolt struck true, sending him stumbling back.  She whirled just as the false Falcon vanished.  "I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't catch your evil monologue over the sound of that stupid engine of yours."

The Scorching Ray had carved a burning line across his helmet.  He pulled it off and tossed it aside.  "Not bad," he said with a smirk.  "Clever little spitfire, aren't you?"

And Lup once again found herself staring down this twisted mockery of her captain, this Davenport who was so fucking _wrong_ it made her nauseous.  The bond engine whined softly at the edge of her hearing.

She gritted her teeth.  As long as he was here, he wasn't causing devastation below, attacking people who were less able to defend themselves.   But he'd grounded the Starblaster and kept her just as busy, getting her to waste her spell slots and her time while his forces chewed up the edges of Confluence.  And for what?  She'd cost him his helmet, and Barry's bullets had left a few nicks and dents in his armor.

This was getting fucking annoying.  Her hands caught fire.  "Clever enough to figure you out," she growled.  "I don't care how many bond engines our captain builds you, you're still a shitty copy and he's a hundred times the gnome you are."

_"Lup!"_   Taako's voice rang out.  He came Flying over the Starblaster's railing, Merle gripped in his arms.  He settled down on the slanted deck gracefully, and Merle landed with all the sturdy balance of a stone.

Lup grinned.  "Just in time to help me take out this jackass," she said, hooking a thumb in the Falcon's direction.

"Wait, wait for me!" came Magnus's voice from the other side of the ship.  He was running towards the Starblaster, waving.  Lucretia followed just behind.  "Are we doing a hero thing?"  He scooped up Lucretia and leapt, gripping the railing that slanted closer to the desert floor and vaulting them onto the deck.  He set her down and flexed in one smooth motion.  "'Cause I'm ready to do the hero thing!"

For all the horror of the situation, Lup laughed.  Gods bless Magnus.

He pointed at the Falcon.  "Hey you," he said, "your evil ends tonight!"

The Falcon rolled his eyes.  "Yeah, that's the third time I've heard that in the past hour, and it's still not true."

Magnus launched himself at the Falcon, going for a classic face punch.  Lup only then realized she couldn't hear the Falcon's bond engine, and called, "Magnus, wait--"

He passed through the image and hit the deck hard.  "What the?  Where'd he go?"

Shit.  He'd cast Mislead, possibly when she'd turned her head to look at Taako.  "Careful, he's mad skilled with illusions.  Lucretia?"

Lucretia flicked her wand and cast Dispel Magic.  The air above the deck shimmered, and the real Falcon appeared.  The Zone of Silence with which he'd hidden the noise of the engine also failed, and for the first time, the rest of the crew could hear its sickening whine.  There was a moment of stunned silence as the realization of what they were looking at hit them all at once.  Even Taako, whose wand was already pointed at the Falcon, just stared with wide eyes.  Lucretia gasped, and her face crumpled like she was about to cry.

The engine crackled with yellow threads, and spun even faster.  As if it were feeding off their shock and horror.

"Well," said the Falcon.  "I'm afraid this is where our touching reunion ends. I'm a busy man, and the world isn't going to terrorize itself."  He shrugged, his face cracking with a smile.  "But as I'm a thoughtful guest, allow me to leave you with a parting gift.  A little message from your captain."  The engine whirred ever faster, and he shot into the sky.  The air in the center of the deck shimmered with one last illusion.

And there was Captain Davenport, thin and haunted, reaching with trembling hands to connect a glowing filament from the Light of Creation into the jagged, awful mini-bond engine.  His eyes looked huge in his gaunt face.  He seemed to be staring at something impossibly far away.  The Light pulsed three times, and with painful grinding slowness, the engine began to turn.

Davenport buried his face in his hands and slowly sank to his knees, his shoulders heaving in silent sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *deep breaths*
> 
> Hey all, as I mentioned last chapter, I wanted to give my readers something as a thank-you for 1000 hits. So, as a palate-cleanser after the intensity of the last few chapters, I made some ridiculously silly Raptor art :) I don't have a Tumblr to post them on, so these will just be Dropbox links. 
> 
> First off, I know this is a few months out of season, but the idea tickled me so much I just had to do it:  
> Seven Raptors Anti-Valentines Cards!  
> https://www.dropbox.com/s/v8bat23vwhlzxft/anti-valentines.jpg?dl=0
> 
> (I'm still figuring out my headcanons for Magnus and the twins, but *shrugs* I'm still pretty happy with how they turned out here!)
> 
> And here's a little background for this next image. When I first conceived of this story, I had the idea of a running gag that all the Raptor guys would have Beards of Evil to show they were the Evil Twins (tm). Well, the story's tone shifted heavier as I wrote it, and there was never a good time to bring it up, so I eventually dropped the idea. But that's the reason the Vulture has a terrible beard and I picture the Falcon as sporting a goatee.
> 
> And but so, have a comic about Raptor Facial Hair:  
> https://www.dropbox.com/s/koyya2g4lqabmdw/Raptors%20facial%20hair%20comic.jpg?dl=0


	19. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus and Lucretia compare notes. Taako hatches a plan. Davenport puts a screwdriver to good use.

"Lieutenant Commander Terra, report!"

Terra spun on her heel and saluted Commander Burton.  His uniform was spattered with blood from the battle.  But knowing his fierce reputation in combat, she could safely assume most of the blood wasn't his.  "We've cleared the immediate area around the breach, sir.  I was able to gather a small squad and keep them in my aura to avoid the pervasive Fear effect."  She gestured to the small group of battle-weary soldiers behind her.  "We were about to check out reports of some straggler zombies that had penetrated all the way into the Lower Commons."

Commander Burton nodded, his face locked in its usual grim scowl.  "Excellent work, Lieutenant Commander."  He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped some blood off his cheek.  "The main forces outside the city are withdrawing, and the Fear effect appears to be dying down.  As soon as you're able to get some backup who can function outside your aura, send them to the merchants' quarter to restore order.  We've had some issues with looting." 

"Yes, sir!"  She clicked her heels smartly together. 

"In the morning, after you've rested, I also want you to take point on a special task.  Take a squad and round up every bard in town who's ever sung one of those damned Raptor ballads, and bring them in for questioning."

Terra blinked.  "Sir?"

He frowned.  "Whatever caused this mass hysteria, Lieutenant Commander, it seems those songs were a vital part of it.  Assume anyone who has ever sung one in public is a potential collaborator with the Raptors.  Do I make myself clear?"

"Uh, yes sir!"  Terra's thoughts scrambled over each other.  Those ballads were everywhere.  Did he mean to imply that every bard in the Farcry Desert was a secret Raptor spy?  That seemed…unlikely. 

But she had her orders.

"Sir," she said, "there is something else you should be aware of.  I was confronted by one of the Raptors, the one who was wearing some sort of flying armor.  He identified himself as the Red Falcon, and said he had a message for you."

"For me?"  Burton raised an eyebrow.  "And what did he say to you?" 

Terra was suddenly and stupidly aware that Burton's hand had come to rest lightly on the pommel of his sheathed sword.  But she shoved that thought away.  Her nerves were overly wound up after a night of fighting, true, but this was her Commander.  "Sir, he said…"  She looked around the devastated city.  "He said that this--all of this--was a gift for you.  From the Red Falcon." 

"For the Brigade?"

She shook her head.  "He called you specifically by name."

"I see.  Did he say anything else?"  His face was an expressionless mask.    

"He only asked where you were.  But when I refused to tell him anything, he gave me the rest of his message."  When Burton didn't react, she asked, "Sir, what do you think it means?"

He snorted.  "It means what it always means," he said, dismissing the message with a wave of his hands.  "All these desert gangs want is anarchy, the rule of violence.  The Brigade stands between them and that goal.  The Red Falcon is smarter than most, but in the end, he's just a criminal trying to gloat."  He looked around at the city, at the broken windows and blood-spattered cobbles and the severed zombie limbs.  "If it's a fight he wants, we will bring it to him."

Terra nodded.  This felt like Bloody Monday all over again.  Like she was standing on the precipice of a turning point.  The Raptors had crossed a line, and the Border Brigade would repay in kind. 

Commander Burton turned away.  "If you need me, I'm heading back to Headquarters to assess the situation there.  Carry on, Lieutenant Commander."

She saluted.  "Yes sir!"  She watched him go, and glanced once more at the city walls.  She'd been fighting at the breach when the miraculous silver ship had gone down.  She had no idea what had happened to it or whether there were even any survivors, but she knew it couldn't be far.  And whoever was in it, she had some questions for them.

But that would have to wait.  For now, she had a city to help.

 

 

#

 

Taako lifted his hands, sending Flappy skyward.  The spy-bat fluttered in the night air, then took off after the fading dust-cloud that trailed after the Raptor gang's retreat.

"Be good, Flappy!" Magnus called after it, like the dork he was.

"Hold still!" Merle groused as he worked his healing magic over Magnus's wounds. 

Taako leaned back against the deck railing and watched the others, arms folded across his chest.  Barry was pacing back and forth on the slanted deck while Lup waited patiently for her turn with Merle, and Lucretia, 'natch, was already writing all this down in her notebooks. 

"Okay, so lemme see if I understand," said Barry.  "The Red Falcon is mad because the other Magnus got a medal and he didn't think he'd earned it?"

"No, it was like…"  Magnus rubbed his temple.  "It's kinda weird to try to sort it out, because it was my memories but not?  But they were both awarded this medal, but then the Falcon threw his away and said that the battle had, like, wiped out his people.  And because Magnus had been the big hero in that battle, he was targeted.  I think."

Lucretia looked up.  "Wait!  That means…"  She fumbled into one of her robe pockets and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.  "He's the one who was redacted!" 

The others leaned close to see.  Taako peered over her shoulder.  It was a list of promotions and medals for the Battle of Broken Hill.  She pointed to the line of black ink obscuring the name of one of two recipients of something called the Sungold Medal of Valor.  The other was "Lieutenant Magnus Burnsides."

Barry frowned, adjusting his glasses.  "But the battle was against the Cobras, right?  Not against a bunch of gnomes.  Unless…"  He squinted, and looked at Magnus.  "Were the Cobras a gnome gang?"

Magnus shook his head.  "No, it was--and again, it's kinda muddled, but I think he'd been the captain of a--the Golden Valley Company?  That was wiped out in the battle.  I remember _remembering_ that, if that makes sense.  And the Falcon seemed to think it was deliberate.  He blames the head of the Brigade, and said that they'd just try to bury the information if he came forward."

Lucretia pulled out her journal and flipped back to another page.  "Huh.  I think there may be something to that."  She held out her notes so they could see.  "There were all these weird discrepancies in the records of that battle.  Numbers didn't add up.  There were four combat units listed on the main battle map but only three companies listed in the rosters.  A whole page missing from the casualty report.  Other holes that didn't make sense…"

Taako took her journal and scanned over the list of discrepancies, holding the page up so Lup could read it with him.  "Yeah," he said, "uh, so this is definitely another case of someone trying to disappear a problem."

Lup's eyes narrowed.  "This is it," she said.  "This is what the Whirlwind knows."  She looked up at Magnus.  "Did the other Magnus remember what exactly happened to this Golden Valley Company?"

Magnus did that face-scrunching thing when he was thinking hard.  He rubbed at his temples for good measure.  "No, I don't think so?  Just…he remembered there was a company of gnomes that was lost in the battle.  But this Davenport must have survived somehow, I guess."  He shrugged.

"Lucy," said Taako, "when you were in the archives, uh, you wouldn't happen to have seen where they keep the classified files, did you?  I'm talkin' stuff only the highest ranking dudes would have access to?"

She shook her head.  "I mean, there were several closed doors I didn't go into.  But it's likely they have some place to keep classified information." 

Taako smirked.  There might be one advantage to the Brigade being in disarray at the moment.  "Then let's say you and I go chase a paper trail?"

Lucretia glanced down at her journal, then up again.  She nodded.  "Let's do it."

 

#

 

In the shadow of his cot, out of view of the cell door, Davenport drew a map.  He scraped the tip of the screwdriver into the rough-packed dirt, working through his memories of which passages he'd been down and where they led, marking the niches manned with undead and the positions of the live guards.

His mind felt clearer than it had in weeks.  Maybe it was the weight of the key growing warm in his inner pocket, or maybe it was the knowledge that the engine was finished and he could do nothing worse to this world, save for failing to secure the Light.  Or maybe it was whatever Quillbird had done to him, pulling him out of the enchantment that had left him in a sort of numb stupor for he didn't even know how long.  Regardless, the cloud that had been hanging over him ever since he'd fallen into the Falcon's trap had finally lifted.  He wasn't happy; far from it.  He still felt worn to the bone, and the thought of what the Falcon was doing out there with his engine terrified him.  But a small and tentative hope fluttered in his chest, and he was determined to do _something._

The sound of heavy footsteps and the clink of metal armor rang down the tunnel.  He slipped away the screwdriver and shifted so he was facing the door, sitting between it and the cot.

The Falcon arrived, flanked by the Condor and Quillbird.  His helmet was gone, but he still wore the suit.  The engine spun slowly behind him, running in low power mode.  He leaned casually against the cell bars.  "Sooo," he began in a light, conversational tone.  "I thought you'd like to know how our first test run went.  I might streamline the talons a bit to make them more responsive, but the engine worked like a charm."  He grinned.  "You do nice work.  I don't think the good people of Confluence are going to forget it anytime soon.  Those who survived, at least."  He chuckled.

Davenport said nothing.  He just glared up at the Raptor.

"Your crew was stunned speechless.  I guess they were a little hurt, knowing their captain betrayed them."

No, his crew wouldn't have thought that.  He knew them, and they knew him.  The implication that would have pricked under his skin just yesterday now bounced harmlessly away.  He just kept glaring at the Falcon, unmoved.

The Falcon frowned.  He'd probably expected to get an easy rise out of Davenport, but that wasn't happening.  But then that mad grin slid back across his face, and he leaned in close to the bars.  "Ooh," he said, "there's a _fire_ in your eyes!  What's going on in that sharp little brain of yours?  Because it's a little late to put up a show of resistance _now,_ after you've already given me everything I've asked for.  Like the little dog you are."

Davenport glanced at the Condor, who stared dead ahead, seeing nothing.  He glanced at Quillbird, who looked at the floor, hands clutching one of her journals.  Not yet ready to make her move.  And he looked over the Falcon's suit, which was scorched black in some places, like he'd flown a bit too close to fire.  A tiny hole was punched in one stubby wing, likely a bullet hole.  And the only guns he'd seen in this world had been on the Starblaster.

It looked like his crew had given the Falcon a run for his money.  Otherwise he wouldn't be here, trying to gloat.  Davenport smiled. 

The Falcon banged a talon against the cell bars.  "Wipe that smile off your face before I tear it off myself!" he snapped.  "You think you're so much better than me?!  The great Captain Davenport who's suddenly so fucking above it all?  The blood of Confluence is on your hands as much as it's on mine!"  Beneath the metal talons, his hands shook.

Davenport's brow furrowed.  He stared at the place where the Falcon's ears should have been.  The Falcon wouldn't have cut them off unless he wanted to hide what he was feeling.  But he didn't care if people knew he was angry.  So he must be trying to hide something else, some other inconvenient tells. 

His face suggested he was a stone-cold badass, but maybe the Falcon was scared shitless.

And what better way to stop being scared than to make sure everyone else was more scared of you?

Gods.  Why hadn't Davenport seen this before?  He'd been so focused on his own misery, he couldn't _think._

The Falcon turned and grabbed the journal from Quillbird's hands.  He flipped it open while she looked on, eyes wide and face pale.  He found the page he was looking for and stopped.  "'I almost destroyed hundreds of lives to protect my crew,'" he read.  "'Thought it would keep Hunger from getting stronger.  But my crew stopped me.'"  He looked down at Davenport, one eyebrow cocked. 

The words struck him like a blow.  He glanced up at Quillbird, who shook her head in surprise and denial.

"'They found third option,'" the Falcon continued to read.  The words rang as hard and as cold as if he had stepped into the cell and punched him with one of those talons.  "'I didn't even think there could be a third option.  Too desperate for a win.'"  He snapped the journal closed, held it aloft like damning evidence.  "That's you, isn't it?  _Isn't it,_ Captain Davenport?"

Davenport said nothing.  Even if he could, even if he still had a voice, his throat closed around anything he might say.  His guilt was a stone lodged in his throat, slowly strangling him from inside.

The Falcon shoved the journal back into Quillbird's hands, sparing her one terrible glance before turning his gaze back to Davenport.  "You're no better than me," he said, his voice quiet but intense, his eyes a pair of burning coals.  "Maybe you thought you could be, once.  But the world chewed you up and spat you out.  The world made you a killer, just like me."  And he turned and stalked away.

Davenport clenched his fists so tightly, his broken nails dug into his palms.  His hands would not stop shaking.

 

#

 

The city of Confluence smoldered.  As the citizens huddled in bunkers and basements, the Border Brigade shook off the last lingering traces of Fear and continued in their efforts to contain the chaos, rounding up looters and taking down the last of the zombies.

Unnoticed and unremarked, a dwarf in black and silver robes strolled through the chaotic streets.  As he made his way to the city gates, he stepped over and around the corpses that littered the cobblestones, whistling as he went.


	20. Night Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taako plays nice. Lucretia learns to fly. The IPRE Crew acquires a bard.

The evening after the assault on Confluence, the Archives were quiet.  Every brigadeer who could be spared was out patrolling the streets, trying to bring some semblance of control to the city, putting on as good a show of force as they could for a still-panicky populace.  But the Brigade had been hit hard, and had lost many people.  So the mostly-unmanned Archives seemed eerily empty to Lucretia as she crept through their hallways.

Taako followed, invisible, and used spellwork to get them past the various locked iron gates.  He'd transmuted her clothes into a passable Brigade uniform, hoping that what he called the Someone-Else's-Problem Field would dissuade most attention.  "Just act casual," he'd said, "like you're supposed to be there, and let everyone else's attention just roll right off."  He'd flicked his golden fingers in a dismissive gesture.

Just like her days at the IPRE campus, she'd thought to herself.  And kept thinking to herself, as she crept into the Archives' reception area.  Holly wasn't there; Lucretia paused for a moment, looking at the halfling's empty seat.  She hoped Holly had survived.  The archivist wouldn't have been at the wall during the initial attack, but anything could have happened in the chaos that followed.

The door to the area behind the desk swung open, unlocked by an invisible hand.  She heard Taako clear his throat softly, and she pulled her attention back on the task at hand.

The hallway was exactly as she'd seen it last time, lined with several closed doors.  So they started on one side, opening doors on what appeared to be several offices.  And then there was the Archives, which she skipped, as she'd seen nothing in there to suggest a room beyond it or a special closed-off section with restricted access.  The other side of the hallway only had two doors.  The first was a spacious workroom with drafting tables and shelves of ink bottles and fresh paper.  The second was the office of Lieutenant Trent.

She paused for the soft click as the lock was disengaged.  She turned the knob and opened the door on the strangest office she had seen in this place.

There were bookshelves and a filing cabinet.  There was a generously-sized stone desk.  And behind the desk was a large tree, illuminated faintly by moonlight streaming in through a skylight in the very high ceiling.  Wrapped around the tree's trunk was a sash in Brigade colors, white and yellow-gold.

"Huh," said Lucretia.

Taako tugged on her sleeve.  "On your left," he whispered.

She glanced to the left, and there, indeed, was an impressive metal door labeled _Restricted Access_.  Bingo. 

Taako worked his magic over the door, which swung open on silent hinges.  She entered after him and quietly shut the door behind her, casting a Light spell to illuminate the place.  She was reluctant to touch the light switch in this room, uncertain if anything had been trapped or if turning on the arcane power supply would draw unwanted attention.  But here she was, confronted with several imposing-looking metal filing cabinets and map drawers.  Where to start?  Looking for Davenport under Personnel?  Files on the Raptor investigation, whatever that entailed?  Or the Marlyn Campaign?

She settled on the latter, since that was where the files had been missing from in the first place.  She went to the appropriate drawer and tugged on the handle.

It didn't budge.  She glanced over at where she thought Taako was, and shrugged.  There was a pause.

"Yeah, I think there's a trap on these drawers," he said.  "If I try to magically disable the lock, it'll probably trigger something nasty.  There a keyhole or something?  Maybe we could, uh, find a key in the desk back there."

She examined the cabinet, but there was no obvious keyhole.  There was, however, a flat black stone embedded in the metal near the top, next to the words _Authorized Personnel Only_.  "I think maybe it's a spell that reads fingerprints?"

Then the question was, did Quillbird have access when she was here?  And even if she had, would that access have been withdrawn after she was declared missing?  She reached for the button and hesitated, biting her lip.

Well, no time like the present.  She pressed her thumb against the stone.

A red gem lit up on the wall, and a bell began to ring.  A wave of magic ran through the room, dispelling Taako's invisibility and turning Lucretia's transmuted uniform back into her IPRE robes.

"Shit!  Uh, just go for it!"  Taako blasted the filing cabinet's lock open.  Lucretia yanked open the drawer, revealing rows of red folders.  She scanned the labels quickly and grabbed for a thin one labeled "Marlyn Campaign".

A low wooden creaking sounded in the office outside.  "Who's there?" came a slow bass voice.  The door handle began to turn.

She flipped open the folder, and quickly shut it again.  "This is the one," she said, tucking it into her robes.  "We need to get out of here!"

The door opened.  But there was nobody in Lieutenant Trent's office, just a crowd of branches and a tree trunk twisting in their direction.  A mouth and a pair of eyes opened in the bark.  "Show yourself!" came that bass voice.  "You are tresspassing!" 

Taako snorted.  "Of fuckin' course," he said.

Lucretia blinked, staring at Lieutenant Trent the Treant. 

Their mouth opened.  "Private Lucretia?" they asked, eyes widening.  "Is that…you?"

Fixing an 'everything's perfectly normal!' smile on her face, she marched smartly out into Trent's office and saluted.  "Reporting for duty, sir!" she said.  "I just got back from, uh, being missing and I thought I'd, uh, try to get a jump start on catching up on everything I've missed.  Burning the midnight oil, you know?"

"Well, I should hope you are not burning anything in my archives!" said Trent, the bark above his eyes lifting almost like eyebrows.  "And why are you even--wait, who is this with you?"  He gestured with one branch towards Taako. 

"'Sup, my man," Taako drawled.  "Or tree, whatever.  I'm easy."

"Private Lucretia," said Trent, "I don't know what's going on but this is an unauthorized access and I'm afraid I'm going to have to arrest you, as per protocol.  Please remain still, and we'll get this sorted out."  They reached for both of them with a pair of thin, whippy branches. 

Taako drew his wand.  "Uh, I don't think so!"  The tip began to glow.

Lucretia knocked his arm up and away from Trent.  Three bolts of Magic Missile sailed upward through Trent's outer branches, smashing a hole in the skylight.

Trent's branches recoiled.  "Ow!  Oh geez!  Did you just attempt to assault me?"

"What the hell, Lucy?" Taako snapped.  "You tryin' ta help the person who's, like, gonna arrest us?"

Lucretia blinked, brain still scrambling.  "We're not like _them_ , Taako," she said.  "And we don't have to _be_ them!" 

Taako stared at her.  His eyes narrowed, and he dragged his hand down his forehead.  "Shit.  Okay, fine.  Whatever, we'll do this the _nice_ way."  He looked up at the shattered skylight.  "Hold onto that file," he said.

Trent lunged for them again.  But Lucretia's whole body tingled and her perspective shifted, and she had no idea what was happening to her but she forced herself to concentrate on just _holding the file_ even as her body seemed to twist away from her and her hands stopped being hands.  And she leapt into the air, wings pumping, avoiding the branches and heading straight to the sky.  Long legs trailed out behind her and strong talons clutched at the file.  Beside her, a golden eagle wove expertly among Trent's upper branches, screaming defiance.  And then they were free, past the treant and past the broken skylight and up above the roofs of Confluence, and Lucretia thought, _Oh my gods, flying is amazing!_

And then she thought, _No wonder Davenport laughs when he flies._

She angled her wings on an updraft, following the golden eagle towards the city walls.  And she thought of that sketch pinned to the very front of the file folder, a sketch that could have been drawn by her own hand, that looked so much like so many sketches drawn by her own hand.  A gnome with a trim pencil moustache and meticulous hair and a brave, confident smile which she missed so much it made her heart ache to see it.  And at the bottom of the sketch, written in a fine, clear hand, a single line of text:  Captain Davenport, Golden Valley Company.

 

#

 

They had just passed the wall and were banking towards the grounded Starblaster when Lucretia saw something by the river.  The eyes of a bird of prey were far sharper than a human's eyes, and she had been enjoying picking out little details from the landscape: a rabbit-like creature scurrying for its den; a spray of purple flowers growing from a cleft at the top of a rock formation; bats flitting over the surface of the wide, slow river, snatching up insects.

And then she saw two figures throw a third, limp figure into the water and walk off.  The two on shore wore dark cloaks over white uniforms, and the one in the water was dressed in familiar, sunflower-yellow garb.

A screech of dismay and anger came out of her beak.  She found herself banking sharply, tilting her wings to dive.  The golden eagle cried above her, but he too dove to follow.  She swooped past the figure floating on the water, about to grab at the front of his doublet before she realized she was still clutching the file folder, and turned instead towards the bank, dropping the folder in the sand before coming to an awkward landing.

The golden eagle twisted and reshaped itself right before it hit the ground, and Taako landed in a puff of purple smoke streaked with gold.  He flicked his wand and Lucretia found herself standing in her own body again.  She felt a momentary pang of regret for the loss of her wings before turning to the water and diving in.

Allen the bard floated face-up in the water, a dark red slash across his chest.  He looked pale but he was breathing shallowly.  Unconscious, but not dead.  "Taako," she said, "Help me get him out!"  She hooked one arm beneath his shoulder and started pulling him towards shore.

"Geez, so I guess we're helpin' everyone today, huh?"  But he gently scooped his arms around her and pulled her out onto the bank.  "You know this dude, or is this just a 'let's help everyone we see' kinda thing?"

"We've met," she said.  She pulled a healing potion out of her pocket, uncorked it, and dribbled some of the green liquid down Allen's throat.  The wound on his chest closed, and he woke with a gasp.  "Hey," she said, trying to keep her voice calm and soothing.  "You're okay, you're with friends."

Allen sat up and stared at her.  "Wait…" he said, blinking at her and at Taako and at her again.  "You're that blood-and-death girl!"

Taako snorted.  Lucretia wasn't sure whether to laugh or cringe.  Her cheeks burned. 

He wiped dripping water off his face and tried to ring out his dark hair.  "I'm sorry, I just…"  He looked down at his slashed doublet, and the blood stain soaking the fabric.  "Oh gods," he said, burying his face in his hands.  "What a night!"

Lucretia set a hand gently on his shoulder.  "How are you feeling?" she asked.

He looked up with a deep, nauseous grimace.  "Like I just got beaten up and left for dead in a river," he moaned. 

"What happened?" she asked.  "Those were Brigade soldiers!"  Not that she should be surprised at this point.  She'd had the same thing happen to her, and if it hadn't been for Lup, she might have met the same fate. 

"Hey, look," said Taako, "I hate to break up this heartfelt reunion, but can you walk?  'Cause a patrol should be coming by soon and if you're on their hit list, uh, maybe it would be better if we were gone-zo."

Lucretia nodded.  "Good idea."  She picked up the folder and handed it to Taako, then pulled Allen to his feet. 

"Ah, thank you, madame," he said, awkwardly attempting a bow.  "For saving my life.  Frankly, I'm not even sure where to begin."  He winced as they began walking towards the Starblaster.  "No, that's not true.  I know exactly where to begin.  It began when I sang that damned song!  _The Falcon Knows_."  He shook his head.  "I apologize, madame.  For that, and for every cursed Raptor ballad I've ever sung in public.  I had no idea they were--I'd never even heard of such bardic powers as what struck the city last night!"

"I think it took a lot of people by surprise," she said.

"Yes, but now the Brigade is blaming all bards!  They've accused all of us as spies, and--"  At her frown, he shook his head again.  "No, wait, let me back up.  I'm telling this story all out of order and it won't do."  He took a deep breath.  "Not long after I met you, I found myself followed one night by a pair of brigadeers.  They claimed to want me for questioning, but when I stopped to comply, one of them drew his sword on me!  I barely escaped and fled town, having no idea at the time what I'd done to earn myself a back-alley death warrant.  So I made my way eventually to Confluence, hoping to lose myself in the crowd."  A small almost-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.  "And I wasn't doing half bad here!  The audience has very deep pockets, and can be quite generous in some of the wealthier neighborhoods.

"And then last night…well."  He gave another dramatic shake of his head.  "Every bard dreams of fame, but not like that.  Not like that."

Lucretia gave him a companionable squeeze on the shoulder.  "I believe you," she said. 

He managed a weak smile.  "Your faith in me is appreciated," he said.  "I only wish others shared your views.  Like I said, this morning every bard in the city was being rounded up for questioning.  The Brigade suspects us all of being tools of the Raptors.  I was brought in, too.  In fact, I was brought directly to Commander Burton for interrogation.  And this is where things went a little…off, I should say.

"He only asked me one question.  'Are you the bard who sang _The Falcon's Way_?'  And it was only then that I realized the whirlwind in the song might be referring to _him_.  I was so stunned I didn't say anything.  He demanded an answer, and I, being scared out of my doublet and with good reason, hemmed and hawed.  Said that I didn't know the mystery lyricist.  And then he nodded to the two brigadeers in the room with us, and they gagged me and dragged me off, and…well, you can guess what happened then."  He pulled a face.

Lucretia nodded.  "You were right," she said.  "That song _is_ about him, and it's just one piece of a larger puzzle we're trying to put together."

"Well, good luck with that."  He shrugged.  "But I hope you don't think less of me when I say I'd rather keep my skin intact than try to crack open a conspiracy."

"Hey, I get ya," said Taako.  "I mean, I don't wanna be risking my skin either, but my skin's already in this game.  In more ways than one."

The trio fell silent for a while.  All of them avoided looking too hard at the burned-out farm houses and cottages that marked the Raptors' passage towards the wall last night.  Lucretia looked up at the brilliantly clear sky, which only last night had been a source of terror for her, when tonight it had been so beautiful and welcoming.

"Hey Taako," she said, "you turned me into a quillbird, didn't you?"

"It seemed fitting," he said with a shrug.

"Okay, I have to ask…what did I look like?"  She had only a faint impression of broad wings and long, powerful legs.  "I mean, I know what hawks and eagles and owls are, but a quillbird is the only one I haven't been able to place and it's been driving me nuts."

Allen glanced at her.  "You don't know what a quillbird is?"

She shrugged.  "I'm not from around here."

Taako smirked.  He bent and scooped up a small, fist-sized rock from the sand, and worked it over in his hands for a moment.  Then he held it out to her.  He'd Stone-Shaped it into a leggy bird with a head and neck rather like a peacock's, but with a more slender body.  A tuft of feathers stuck out from the back of its head, like quills stuck over the ears of a secretary, or a chronicler. 

Lucretia laughed.  It was the first time she'd laughed in what felt like ages.  "A secretary bird!" she guffawed.  "They call them quillbirds around here?"

"Like I said, it seemed fitting," said Taako with a smile. 

"Wait," said Allen, one eyebrow raised.  "Where are you even from that you call them secretary birds?"

Lucretia managed to get her laughter under control long enough to say, "It's kind of a long story."  They rounded the corner on another rock formation, and the Starblaster came into view.  "Taako, you wanna tell him?"

As Allen gaped at the ship, Taako slung an arm over his shoulder.  "My man," he said, "I am about to blow your mind."

 

#

 

The rest of the Starblaster crew swept Allen up like a new pet, and he for one seemed grateful for the attention.  And as he once more related his woeful part in stumbling by accident into a conspiracy and nearly getting killed for it, Lucretia slipped away to her office with the red file, seeking a quiet space to unpack it, and the steady refuge of her notes.

But as she cross-referenced the file's contents to her list of discrepancies, the steadiness crumbled and she had to put her quill down.  She leaned back in her chair, hands pressed against her mouth as she came to understand what she was looking at:  the cold horror of Broken Hill and its aftermath, and the awful, bloody transformation of a gnome so like her captain into a monster.

"Oh gods," she said.  Nobody heard her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my original plan for this world was that it would be an analogue of the two-sunned planet, not of Faerun. So I decided not to include any doubles of Faerun NPCs.
> 
> But then I named a random background character Lieutenant Trent and I can't resist a pun and now here we are ^.^;;


	21. Captain & Crew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davenport leads from afar. Lucretia has a working breakfast. Barry ponders the dangers of liches.

"Dav," said Rosa, "when are you gonna come home?"

The Falcon didn't look up from where he was hunched over a drafting table, mopping up an ink spill.  "When I'm finished with work," he said.

Davenport stood in the corner of the room, watching the scene play out, feeling invisible and bodiless.  It was another Falcon dream, but this one felt different.  Usually these dreams were filled with images of battlefields and bunkers, bond engines and the occasional train ride to nowhere.  They were taut with fury or explosive with violence.  But this image of a gnome-sized office comfortably crowded with drafting tables and workbenches was almost prosaic, suffused with a melancholy calm.

The little gnome girl—Rosa, he knew her name was Rosa although he'd never seen her before—rocked on the balls of her feet, scrunching her nose in annoyance.  She reminded him, vaguely, of his young cousin Neelie, though her nose was the wrong shape and her hair was lighter.  "Well, when's your work gonna be done?" she asked.

"I don't know," said the Falcon.  He balled up another ink-soaked rag and threw it aside, then grabbed a fresh one.  He scrubbed furiously at the dark stain spreading across a set of detailed blueprints.   

"You always say that," said Rosa.  "But you never finish.  When are you gonna come home, Dav?"

He didn't say anything.

"Can I see?"  She popped up beside his elbow, trying to peer at the blueprints. 

"Don't look," he said.  He put a hand gently but firmly on top of her head, and turned her away.  "Please don't look, Rosa, I don't want you to see this."

"Why?"

"Because it's very messy.  You'll get blood all over your hands.  Please, Rosa, don't look."  The ink was spreading all over the desk, dripping onto the floor.

She frowned.  "Elder Treeba says—"

"I know what Elder Treeba said about me!" he snapped.  The calm broke like a brittle twig.  The air in the office tuned sharp, as tense as an overstrained violin string, or the whine of a twisted bond engine.  "She doesn't—nobody understands how important this work is!"  He slammed his fist on the blueprints, splattering red ink across the desk and up his sleeve.

Rosa's face crumpled, and she ran crying from the room.

The Falcon stumbled out of his chair.  "Shit!  Rosa, I didn't mean—"  He reached for her, saw his hand was covered in blood, and pressed it against his forehead instead.  "Rosa, I'm so sorry," he moaned.  "I told you not to look…"  He looked bleakly at the empty doorway.  "Gods, I'm so tired."

Davenport took a step back from the slowly spreading pool of blood on the floor.  "Maybe she's right," he remarked.  "Maybe you ought to stop working."

The Falcon whipped around to face him, furious once more.  "What are you doing here?" he snapped.  "This is all your fault!"

"My fault?"

"My fault," the Falcon echoed.  He blinked at Davenport, ears flicking in surprise—he always had ears in these dreams, always—and suddenly lunged at him, slamming him against the wall, fingers clutching the front of his IPRE jacket.  "How did you get out?" he growled.  Behind him, fire began to lick upwards along the wooden walls.  "How did you escape him?!"

"What?"  Davenport kicked but couldn't get free.  The Falcon held him fast.  "I don't know what you mean!"

The Falcon's eyes were alight, not with fury but with panic.  "Nobody escapes him!  Nothing escapes him!  But you did!"  He pressed Davenport hard against the wall.  "How?!"  His voice broke.  The flames roared around them.  The workshop was an inferno.

Davenport shook his head.  "Who are you talking about?"

The Falcon looked over his shoulder, eyes wide, and Davenport knew—with that clarity that only dreams brought—that he wasn't scared of the fire, but of something far worse.  He looked back at Davenport again, opened his mouth to speak—and a wave of flame engulfed them both.

Davenport fell out of his narrow cot and hit the ground hard, feeling like he had been slammed out of sleep.  He lay shivering on the floor, covered in chill sweat, trying get his bearings in the darkness.

What the hell had just happened?  He pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes and took deep breaths until his heart steadied in his chest.  He heard footsteps--a guard alerted by the sudden noise--but they saw him laying on the floor and moved on.

He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair.  It was just another nightmare about the Falcon, right?  But the way the Falcon had looked at him in the end, the way he'd spoken…The Falcon had spoken to him before in these dreams, he always noticed Davenport eventually and always grew angry at the sight of him.  But it had always been a detached sort of anger, like Davenport was just another part of the dream landscape, just another thing to be angry about.  This time, it was as if the Falcon had realized Davenport was there, had truly _seen_ him, and had tried to communicate.

Were they actually sharing dreams?  He'd written off the idea as absurd, a frantic theory brought about by his increasing desperation and isolation.  But now he wasn't so sure.  He'd certainly seen weirder things in his journey across the planes.

Which raised the question, who was Davenport supposed to have escaped from?  Certainly not the Falcon.  He patted his jacket, felt Quillbird's key still safely hidden.  He had no reason to believe the Falcon knew about this.  Otherwise he would have reacted, taking back the key and punishing Davenport. 

So, who else?  The Hunger?  It was possible the Falcon feared the approaching apocalypse—who wouldn't?—but he already knew very well how Davenport escaped its grasp.  He knew everything about the bond engine that Davenport knew.  He had no reason to desperately grapple at answers that he'd already coerced from him.

No, there was something else going on.  Something that the Falcon was terrified of.  Something—someone, maybe—that he was desperate to get away from.          

He doubted the Falcon would tell him about it if he asked, though.  Was his twin even conscious of this fear that was apparently driving him?  He was volatile but also savvy, and much more aware than he often let on.  After weeks of working closely with him, Davenport had figured out much of the Falcon's patterns, saw how his mood swings and sudden violence were as much a carefully-managed campaign of manipulation, meant to keep his underlings off-balance and in line, as they were the product of instability.  There was a method to his madness.

He laughed at the thought of sitting the Falcon down on a couch and asking him about his mother.  It was a dry, bitter chuckle that ended with a cough.  He reached for his water bowl.  But it was dry, and he was out of water until breakfast, however long that would be.  There were no windows in his cell, no source of light except the flickering torches that lined the far wall of the tunnel.  And now that he wasn't being dragged to the lab every day, his sense of time passing was all fuddled.  Best he could do was climb back into bed and sleep until he was woken by the sound of tin bowls scraping along the floor.

But before he could get into the cot again, a sudden fluttering movement caught his eye.  He looked up and saw a spy-bat flying down the hallway.  It turned its crystal eye towards him and stared at him for a long moment.

He'd never seen a spy-bat flying through this tunnel.  He'd seen them twitching on the Vulture's worktable, or brooding in cages, but never here.

Impulsively, he smiled at it, and gave it a thumbs-up.  It gazed at him for a brief moment more, then turned and kept flying down the tunnel.

 

#

 

A knock sounded at Lucretia's door, startling her awake.  Morning light streamed through her bedroom's small round window.  She rubbed at her face before remembering to to check her fingers for wet ink.  "Yeah?" she called, voice still slurred with sleep.  She checked her face, as she did every morning, for stray ink blotches.

"It's Taako.  Got somethin' cool in the kitchen you gotta see, like, right now.  Also, breakfast is cornbread and sausages, get 'em while they're warm."

"Thanks," she said, carefully getting her balance on the slightly-angled floor and shifting out of her wrinkled robe with a shrug of her shoulders.  She looked like a mess, having once again fallen asleep at her desk rather than in her bed like a normal person.  She was used to looking a bit rumpled in front of the rest of the crew by now;  they'd all been at this long enough to not worry about looking disheveled after long, difficult nights (with the exception of Davenport, who never left his berth without looking meticulously put-together).  But Allen was a guest in their little home, and the least she could do was look a little presentable.  She tossed aside her sand-dusted skirt and sweat-stained blouse and threw on a fresh set of clothes, then shook out her robe to get some of the wrinkles and grit out.  Then a cursory once-over with the hairbrush, and she was out the door, heading straight to the kitchen.

The rest of the crew was crowded around the table, watching a small glowing projection of various tunnels and caverns.  She realized it was an image projected from Flappy, who sat in the center of the table amid the breakfast plates, its crystal eye pointed upwards.  Coasters had been stuck beneath the table to prop it up horizontally.  Allen leaned against the wall and munched on a roll of cornbread, watching this with interest and a little bit of awe.  He'd changed out of his torn and bloody garb and into a spare set of Magnus's IPRE sweats, which were a few sizes too big.

"Lucy, good, you're here!" said Lup.  She and Barry were quickly mapping the tunnel system.  "Grab a quill.  Your time is here, O quillbird!"  Her voice rang with drama.

Barry marked a couple of x's on Lup's map.  "And another set of niches here, at this doorway," he said, "with two more undead guards."

"Lich niches?" asked Magnus, biting down on a huge sausage speared on a fork.

Barry blanched.  "Geez, I hope not!  They should all just be normal zombies."

"Yeah," said Taako, pointing a fork at Magnus, "like, if the Raptors have dozens of liches working for them, I think we'll have bigger problems than just an angry gnome with a bond engine that runs on fear."

Lup nodded.  "Ideally, the number of liches that the Raptors have working for them is zero."  She chewed on her quill.  "I wouldn't put it past the Vulture, considering the sort of creepy death shit he gets into.  But even if he did make himself a lich, he shouldn't have access to those powers while he's alive.  As far as I know."

"So, don't kill the Vulture.  Got it."  Magnus gave her a thumbs-up.

"Of course," said Barry, "liches might work differently in this dimension.  Apparently bards do."  He glanced at Allen and quickly looked away.

Allen ducked his head, looking suitably mortified.  "I was as shocked as you!  Not that I know how bard magic usually works in, um, your dimension."  He brushed his dark forelock out of his eyes.  "What a tale I seem to have fallen into!"

"Yeah, buckle up, homie," said Taako.  "You don't even know the half of it."

"Holy shit," said Merle suddenly.  "It's Dav!"  He pointed to Flappy's projected image.

As one, the entire crew turned their attention to a barred cell in a long tunnel of flickering torches.  Davenport stood in the middle of the cell, wide-eyed and disheveled, as if he'd been startled awake in the middle of the night.  His uniform hung loosely on his narrow shoulders.  His hair was a mess, his face was drawn with hunger, and there were deep shadows under his eyes.  Lucretia once again found herself pressing her shaking hand against her mouth, holding back a cry of despair.

But then Davenport flashed a brave smile, and gave a thumbs-up.  As if to say, _I'm still alive._ As if to say, _Good job, crew.  I'm proud of you._

Magnus thumped his fist over his heart in the IPRE salute.  Lup did the same, her gesture sharp and fierce and defiant, and Taako followed her lead with noble drama.  And then they were all doing it, all saluting this silent image of their captain that had been recorded hours ago, knowing even as they did so that Davenport could not see it from where he was.  But the mood in the room shifted, even so.  And for the first time in weeks, Lucretia thought with absolute certainty, _We can do this.  We are the crew of the IPRE, and we can win._

A loud, firm knock sounded at the Starblaster's hatch.  Lup glanced out the kitchen window, angling her head to look in the hatch's direction.  She leaned back.  "Huh.  Hey Lucy, it's your other old buddy, Lieutenant Commander Terra."  She glanced over at Lucretia.  "You wanna take this?"

 

#

 

The Dark Owl was already waiting outside the cell when Davenport woke up a second time.  Breakfast and his daily water ration sat on the floor, regular as clockwork, and the Dark Owl's expression was as full of resigned despair as always. 

Fuck despair.  He had a world to save. 

He stood from his cot, stretched to get the blood flowing, and dug into breakfast with as much hearty fervor as he could muster.  He made a show of it, just to spite the Dark Owl and his awful Lord of Ashes.  He felt the Dark Owl's eyes on him, and pointedly ignored him.

"Well," said the Owl, after a moment.  "Looks like you--"

He broke off at the sound of commotion at the end of the hall.  Another raider ran up to the Owl, a wiry man who was gasping from exertion.  "Dark Owl!  Sir, there you are!  You need to come right away.  The boss wants you."

The Owl's eyes narrowed.  "I'll be along shortly," he said.  "I'm in the middle of something."

The raider turned pale, shaking his head.  He looked like he was about to panic.  "Sir, you need to come _right now._   He's--he's having some sort of fit, he's screaming his head off and he shanked Torbin in the calf, and he keeps calling for you!  You need to fuckin' talk him down before he starts killin' people!"

The Owl glanced briefly back at Davenport, then gave his usual resigned sigh.  "All right," he said, waddling off down the hall. 

Davenport watched them go.  He heard the guards at the end of the tunnel muttering to themselves, obviously just as curious about this development as he was.  But soon even they fell silent, and he had to be content to wait.

He didn't have to wait for long, though.  About an hour later (so he guessed), Quillbird's voice sounded down the hall, firm with authority.  "--if you doubt my orders, you are more than welcome to take it up directly with the Red Falcon," she said.  "I'm sure he's in an excellent mood today."

There were some hasty mutterings and the shuffling of feet, and the guards stepped aside to let her pass.  She walked with the stride of a woman on a mission, and stopped in front of Davenport's cell, looking down at him as if he were an insect.

"You've caused quite a commotion, whatever you did," she said.  "Falcon wants to know how you did it."

Did what?  He shrugged.  He was pretty sure the Falcon hadn't sent her here to interrogate him at all.  It was Quillbird who wanted answers.  But she had her role to play.

Her eyes narrowed.  "This morning, the Red Falcon woke up ranting and raving, claiming you had somehow gotten inside his head.  Three men had to hold him down while the Dark Owl talked to him until he was calm.  So if you have any ability to remotely possess a person, now is the time to confess.  Otherwise, we can make things very unpleasant for you."  She raised an eyebrow.

He shrugged and shook his head.  So this was a reverse-interrogation, an information drop under the guise of a threat.  And it only confirmed his theory:  he had indeed been appearing in the Falcon's dreams, and the Falcon had finally come to the same realization.  Apparently it had triggered a bout of paranoid fury, which only the Dark Owl was trusted to help temper.  Interesting.

Quillbird glanced down the tunnel and lowered her voice.  "I'd advise you to be cautious," she said in a low voice, so only he could hear.  "The Falcon is already furious that the Vulture and the twins never returned from the raid on Confluence, and he is more likely to act rashly."

Huh.  That was three of the seven unaccounted for.  That tilted the odds slightly in his favor, especially considering their Lup--the Fire Hawk--was one of the Raptors' most dangerous assets.

It also meant that the laboratory was currently unoccupied.

"Be on your guard," she continued.  "If something's going to happen, it'll happen soon."  Worry pinched the skin between her eyebrows.  "Did the Dark Owl say anything to you today?"

Davenport shook his head. 

"Don't listen to a word he says," she said.  "Don't trust him, don't trust anyone else--"  She glanced again at the guards.  She drew herself up and raised her voice.  "And if you pull that stunt again, your tongue won't be the only part you'll be missing."

He nodded amicably. 

The corner of her mouth twitched in what was almost a smile.  Then she turned and was gone. 


	22. Missing Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus stops a fight before it starts. Taako gets protective. Lucretia takes a stroll.

Magnus loomed.  He was good at that.  He had the height and the shoulders for it, and sometimes you just need a good loom.  It was an excellent way to stop fights before they even began, which always reduced the chances of someone he liked getting hurt. 

So when Lucy turned pale and minced to the Starblaster's main hatch, he loomed in the kitchen doorway, clearly visible to whoever would enter, while also being a wall between them and the rest of his friends.

Lucy pasted on an innocent smile and opened the door.  "Er--Lieutenant Commander Terra!  How, um, delightful to see you again!"

The tall half-elven woman in the doorway blinked, clearly taken aback.  She quickly collected herself.  "Lucy, is it?"

"Yeah, that's right!" Lucy said, a bit too brightly.  "What are the odds, huh?"

"May I come in?  I'm here to speak to whoever's in charge of this…ship."  She looked past Lucy at the ship's interior, and noticed Magnus.  She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh!  Um, well our leader is…absent.  I could, um, take a message?"  Lucy glanced at Magnus, who loomed even more.  For, you know, support.

"Do you expect them back shortly?"

"Well, we're not sure exactly--"

Magnus was pushed aside from behind as Lup squeezed past him.  "He's being held prisoner by the Raptors," she said, folding her arms across her chest.  "If you wanna speak to whoever's in charge in our captain's absense, it's all of us.  We're a team."

"Yeah!" Magnus boomed.  It seemed like the sort of statement that required a good _yeah!_

Lucy stepped aside to let Terra in.  The Lieutenant Commander took them all in, but she seemed over her initial surprise and took Lup's arrival in stride.  "Well, then.  On behalf of the Border Brigade, I wanted to thank you for your help in staving off the Raptor attack the other night.  If it weren't for your timely intervention, the damage to the wall and the city could have been far more dire."

"Wait, did she come here to thank us?" Magnus heard Taako say quietly behind him.  "Because I am here for that!"  And he, too, squirmed past Magnus, but he managed to squirm with a dramatic wave of his red robe.  "Yeah, that was definitely us," he said, so Terra could hear.  "Because we're fuckin' awesome.  You're welcome."

Terra raised an eyebrow.  "Well, I certainly admit this ship is impressive.  I've never seen anything like it.  Where did it even come from?"

"Now that's a question and a half," said Lup.  "Short answer is, it's from really fuckin' far away."

"Yeah!" said Magnus.  He wasn't sure if that was a statement that required a follow-up _Yeah!_ , but it couldn't hurt. 

"If you don't mind, I'd like the long answer," said Terra, giving Lup a warmly apologetic smile.  "A silver ship flying out of nowhere and helping fend off the Raptors raises a lot of questions, and I've come here to find out exactly what's going on."

There was a pregnant pause as the crew looked at each other.  It was always a tricky proposition telling locals that they were interdimensional explorers here to stop the apocalypse.  Allen was one thing, but this person had authority in the local military.  Magnus glanced at Lup, but it was Lucy who suddenly stepped up.

"Terra," she said, her face drawn and serious, "may I ask you a question first?  Were you involved in the Battle at Broken Hill?"

The energy in the room shifted.  Magnus could feel his skin prickle with it.  Terra regarded Lucy quietly, then nodded.  "I was a lieutenant at the time."

"So…not part of the upper command?"

"No, not then."  Terra glanced at the others, then back at Lucy.  Her warm smile was gone.  "Now, let me ask you a question.  Have you been in contact with your sister lately?"

Lucy blinked.  "Uh, my sister?  N-no, not since, uh…she disappeared…"

"Because she's apparently back in town," Terra continued, one hand resting casually--but not casually at all--on the pommel of her sword.  "And last night she broke into a secure part of the Archives, and is now a wanted fugitive.  Your _sister_ , with whom you admitted you share a striking family resemblance, was accompanied by an elf with blue hair and distinctive gold hands.  Both of them were wearing red robes."  Her eyes narrowed.  She glanced pointedly at Taako, then back at Lucy.  "Now, will you come quietly?"

Instantly, both Lup's and Taako's wands were out.  "Nobody's takin' Lucy," Taako growled.

Terra didn't flinch.  "Do you really want to do this?" she asked, her voice low and dangerous.  Her fingers gripped her sword firmly now, and the blade was an inch out of its sheath.

"WAIT."  Magnus stepped forward, hands lifted in a gesture of peace.  He kept his voice loud and his tone even.  "We're not doing this.  Not here, not right now, and not over this.  Everybody put your weapons _down._ "  He kept his gaze on them steady, until the twins reluctantly put their wands away.  Terra removed her hand from the pommel of her sword.

"Lieutenant Commander Terra," he said, "look, I know this looks bad, but you have to trust us that we're the good guys here.  We're trying to help.  You're trying to help too, right?  You want to stop the Raptors just as much as we do.  Right?"

She frowned.  "Of course I do."

"Then we should be helping each other!"

"By breaking into the Border Brigade's archives and threatening one of our officers?"

"Hey, we coulda killed him but we totally didn't," said Taako.  "I just wanna point that out, for the record."

Magnus shook his head.  "Okay, I know that looks really bad, but we've just been trying to get to the bottom of this.  Nobody's been able to figure out anything about why the Red Falcon is doing what he's doing, right?  You don't know, do you?"

Terra stiffened.  "He's doing what he's doing because he wants anarchy," she said.  "He's a criminal, and only the Brigade is capable of stopping him."

"Yeah, you'd think that, wouldn't you?" Taako drawled.

Magnus grimaced.  "His name is Davenport.  He was a captain in the Border Brigade, and then he became the Shadow Stalker, and then the Red Falcon."  At Terra's shocked expression, he added, "And the reason you don't know that is because there's been a cover-up to hide it."

Terra turned red in the face.  Her posture shifted subtly into a combat stance, and her fists clenched.  "That's a bold accusation to make," she said.  "I'm assuming you have evidence to back up this claim?"

"How about 'I saw it with my own eyes', does that count?"

"You…saw this cover-up happening?"  Her expression shifted from angry to confused.  One eyebrow arched. 

"Yeah!  Well…not the cover-up part, but the part where the Red Falcon told me why he was doing this," he said.  "I saw it when my own corpse handed me a magic stone.  Because I'm apparently Lieutenant Magnus Burnsides of the Border Brigade, but from another dimension where he didn't die?"  He shrugged.  "It's kinda weird."

Taako and Lup pulled a rare synchronized Twin Forehead Slap.

"Okay, okay," said Lup, "let's back this up--"

"This," Terra interrupted, "is the most ludicrous thing I have ever heard!  I ought to have you all arrested on the spot and taken in for questioning--"

"Wait, wait!"  Lucy waved her arms frantically.  "Lieutenant Commander Terra, I do have evidence!  I can prove all of this.  Wait just a minute…"  And she scurried off to her room.

An awkward silence fell in the little entrance hallway.  "Okay," said Lup, "okay.  Before we get into the nitty-gritty of this clusterfuck, here's the short-short version.  We're seven travelers from another dimension, and it turns out the seven raptors in all those creepy-ass ballads of yours are our evil twins from _this_ dimension.  And the Red Falcon is the evil twin of our own captain, who is currently their prisoner."

Terra blinked.  "There are eight of you," she said flatly.

"Sorry?"

"Seven explorers."  Terra tilted her head in the direction of the kitchen.  Her half-elven ears weren't mobile, but they were still sharp, in more than one way.  "Your captain isn't here, but I can hear three others hiding in the kitchen, making a total of seven on this ship right now.  So, who's the eighth?"

 Magnus glanced over his shoulder.  Barry and Merle both shrugged, and looked at Allen. 

"Uh," said Allen, turning pale as rice porridge, "M-Maguyver," he said.  "My name's Maguyver O'Malley."

"He's a local friend we picked up," Merle offered.

"Yeah!" Magnus added.  That was definitely a statement that required a back-up _Yeah!_  "He's our buddy!" 

Lucretia came back with a red folder in one hand and a pair of journals in the other.  She opened the folder, showing off a sketch of Captain Davenport, which was so like the Cap'nport Magnus knew that at first he wasn't sure which one he was looking at.  "This," Lucy said, "is the Captain Davenport of your world.  And _this_ ," and she flipped open her journal to a page of various crew sketches, "is the Captain Davenport of our world.  I drew these 18 years ago, when we first left our home dimension."

Terra squinted at the sketches.  "All right, I admit the resemblance is striking, but I don't see why--"

"And _this_ ," said Lucy, holding out the folder, "is the classified record of the Battle of Broken Hill."  After only a moment's hesitation, she handed it to Terra. 

Terra flipped slowly through the folder, eyes scanning over the contents.  Her expression shifted from wary disbelief to curiosity and then to shock.  She looked up at Lucy, who nodded soberly.  Magnus had no idea what was in the folder--he hadn't had a chance to look at it since Lucy came back last night--but he could make a pretty good guess.

"My gods," said Terra.  "If this is true…"

Taako sighed.  "Okay, so I know we just spent half of last night explaining all this already to, uh, Mr. O'Malley back there, but I tell ya what."  And he made a sweeping gesture towards the kitchen.  "Why don't I make another batch of iced tea, and we'll all sit down and talk this out like sensible fuckin' adults."

Terra nodded.  "All right.  I came here for information, after all."  She looked at the red folder and handed it back to Lucy. 

Taako smirked.  "Well buckle up," he said, "because for the second time in twelve hours, I'm about to blow your mind."

 

#

 

Terra leaned back in the couch and stared at the red folder on the coffee table in front of her, along with a small pile of red-leather journals marked with the IPRE logo.  A ship with seven travelers from another dimension, racing to stop the apocalypse.  Her mind reeled with the thought.  And that wasn't even getting into what she'd learned about her own world:  about Broken Hill, and Commander Burton, and the Red Falcon.

"I know, it's a lot to fuckin' take in," said the gold-handed elf, Taako.  "Want any more of that iced tea?"  He slipped a small metal tea canister from the voluminous sleeve of his red robe and plopped it on the table.  Its label clearly showed writing in a squiggly, pictographic language she'd never seen before.  "I picked it up two Cycles ago, but it's still fresh."

She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand.  "All right," she said, "you've made your point.  You're from another dimension, as if the weird technology on this ship wasn't proof enough."  She shook her head.  "But I've served as Lieutenant Commander under Burton for two years now.  And I've never seen anything in him to suggest that he's anything less than honorable.  I find it incredibly hard to believe that he's done what you're suggesting."

Lucy--no, Lucretia, she corrected herself--looked crestfallen.  "But those two brigadeers who followed us--"

"Could have followed you for any number of reasons," she said.  "They could have mistaken you for someone on a Wanted poster, or thought you were acting suspicious, or thought you had stolen something."

Lucretia fell silent, looking away.  But the other elf, Lup, shook her head.  "You were there, watching us," she said.  "You saw exactly what we did, and you said yourself that you would've recognized us if we were on any posters, which we _weren't_.  And nothing that we did or said triggered any of your danger sense, which I'm sure is top-notch.  Yet Burton decided to send a couple of his soldiers after us, without even giving you an explanation?"  She cocked an eyebrow.  "Doesn't _that_ trigger any suspicion?"

Terra pressed her lips firmly shut.  It had struck her as a little odd, at the time, that Burton had ordered two of his brigadeers off on some mission without telling her what it was.  But Burton wasn't required to explain himself to her.  He was a quiet man, taciturn by nature and irritated by overly long or unnecessary explanations.  And she trusted him.  "It didn't strike me as nefarious," she said.

"Cool, but that's not what I asked."  Lup narrowed her eyes.  "I asked, did it strike you as suspicious?"

Terra grimaced.  "You're accusing the Commander of the Border Brigade of sending soldiers to kill you, just because you might have made a connection between the Red Falcon and Davenport?  I'm sorry, but that's incredibly hard to swallow.  It's your word against his, an isolated incident that could have any number of explanations."

Lup ground her teeth but Terra held her ground, keeping her face a blank wall. 

"But what if it wasn't an isolated incident?"  The question came, quiet and tentative, from the IPRE's friend, Maguyver O'Malley.  He'd been watching this conversation from a corner of the room, listening but not contributing.  "I mean, suppose it had happened before, and…was continuing to happen?"

Terra raised an eyebrow.  "You have proof?  That these incidents have occurred multiple times?"

Maguyver turned pale.  He looked at the IPRE crew, then back to Terra.  He swallowed, took a deep breath.  "My real name is Allen," he said.  "I'm a bard, and the Brigade has tried to kill me twice.  Because I unwittingly sang a song that linked Burton to the Falcon."  He reached into the pocket of his oversized sweatpants, and she went for her sword by habit but he shook his head.  "I'm not going to sing it for you.  That's caused enough damage, much to my everlasting regret.  But I can give you this."  He pulled out a folded slip of paper and handed it to her.  "It's the lyrics to a song called _The Falcon's Way._   And it was sent to me by a person I now believe to be Quillbird."

The group fell silent as she read over the lyrics.  Her gaze lingered over the last two lines.  She read them over and over again. 

Allen sighed.  "I had no idea what it meant.  I thought it was just poetic lines about the various desert winds keeping secrets.  But then I was nearly killed by two brigadeers who accosted me with swords drawn, not long after I began performing it in public."

Terra looked at him sharply. 

He nodded.  "It's true.  And just last night, after I was rounded up with the rest of the city's bards, I was taken aside to meet Commander Burton directly.  He questioned me, wanted to know how much I knew--which was, honestly, nothing.  But then he ordered two of his men to dispose of me quietly.  If I had not been fished out of the river by these brave souls, I would not be alive right now."

"S'true," said Taako, throwing his arm around Allen's shoulders in a gesture that was both casually companionable and protective at the same time.  "We _are_ fuckin' interdimensional heroes and all that.  Also, maybe if the Brigade's gonna send out thugs to do its military-cover-up dirty work, they shouldn't just throw dark cloaks over their uniforms.  Y'know, make it not so fuckin' obvious when they go toss a body in the river."

Terra clenched her fist.  The paper crumpled in her hands.  She looked at them, all of them.  Allen was pale and shivering, apparently scared out of his mind.  And with good reason, she thought bitterly.  Taako gazed at her, quietly daring her to try something.  The rest of the red-robed crew shuffled ever so slightly closer to Allen, in a not-so-subtle gesture of protection.

"All right," she said, taking a deep breath and letting it go.  "All right.  Clearly there's something going on here that warrants investigation.  I can't jump to any conclusions, but there's enough here that it can't be dismissed out of hand."  She gave them a level gaze.  "You say you've been investigating the Raptors, planning your own assault, correct?"

"That's the plan," said Lup.

Barry Bluejeans nodded.  (She couldn't believe that was his actual name.)  "We've got schematics of the interior of their hideout, and the hideout's location.  They keep it, uh, hidden behind a lot of illusions so it's hard to find, but we have the exact coordinates in our ship's navigational system."

Good.  "Then, in light of this new information, I'm willing to make a deal with you.  Think of it as a temporary alliance, dependent on your continued good-faith assistance."  She got to her feet, steady and sure.

"We're all ears," said Taako. 

She nodded.  "You share with us what you know about the Raptors' numbers, their abilities and assets, and their hideout.  You help the Brigade with an assault on said hideout; you certainly seem to have the skills and knowledge to help us, and combined with the Brigade's forces, we should be able to take them out once and for all.  And for my part, I will let Allen, Lucretia, and Taako remain here for now and I won't take them in to HQ."  She frowned, and held up the red folder.  "However this shakes out, I will investigate these accusations as soon as the assault is resolved, one way or another.  Let me handle Commander Burton; I can convince him to let me be your direct contact.  Does that seem equitable to you?"

"Group Hug!" said Lup, wrapping one arm around her twin's shoulders and another around Barry's shoulders.  And then they were all drawn into a circle, the six of them plus Allen, their heads bowed in towards the center and their backs to Terra, murmuring to each other.  Granted, Terra could hear most of the mumbling, but she kept her distance to give them at least the courtesy of a private conversation.

The circle broke apart.  "Okay," said Lup, "we accept your offer."

Terra smiled, and extended her hand in friendship.

 

#

 

Lucretia dreamed, that night, of a lullaby her mother used to sing.  She dreamed she was singing it to herself, her own face drifting above her, softly glowing.  The face and the song drifted away, and she got up from her bed to follow it.  She didn't want to lose this moment.

The lullaby drifted through the air, through the quiet halls of the Starblaster, out to the common room.  She pressed the red button to lower the hatch and the stairs, and followed the song out into the soft desert sands.  A cool evening breeze ruffled the edge of her robes, and the moon was full. 

Her second face--the singing, floating, glowing one--stopped singing.  Lucretia blinked, feeling suddenly adrift.

A warm, callused hand slipped into hers.  "Hey there," said Merle, "you all right?"

She looked around.  She wasn't actually sleeping, she was wide awake and standing in the desert.  And there was her own face, floating above her, projected from Flappy's crystal eye.

"Quillbird," she breathed.  She turned around.  Merle stood beside her, and Allen lingered a little behind, a sheepish smile on his face.

"Yeah," said the bard, "we saw you wandering through the common room while we were enjoying a late-night cup of alien tea.  You were clearly under the influence of some sort of bardic suggestion spell," and he gestured to Quillbird's floating face, "and I offered to counter it.  But your friend Merle here suggested seeing where it was leading you, and following along to keep you safe." 

"And here we are, I guess," said Merle, looking around and shrugging.  There was nothing near them besides another of the desert's clusters of smooth boulders.

Lucretia shook her head as the last of her brain-fog dissipated.  "How far did I walk?"

"About half a mile," said Merle.  "So, you know, within running and screaming distance if something goes wrong."

"That won't be necessary."  The image of Quillbird's face vanished, just as a thin, white-haired figure appeared from the other side of the boulders.  Quillbird gave them a wary smile, her dark robes outlined by the light of the full moon.  "I come in peace."


	23. Notes and Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lup puts fireworks to good use. Magnus has all the bonds. Lucretia understands.

"I don't have long," said Quillbird, before Lucretia could open her mouth to ask the million questions bubbling up inside her.  "I need to return to the nest before my absence is discovered.  But I came to see…"  She looked pointedly at Lucretia.  "You've been following our trail.  Did you find us?"

"I found your clues, if that's what you mean," said Lucretia.  "I found the stories they pointed to.  Why the Raptors did what they did, became who they are.  Including…"  She swallowed, her throat tight.  "Davenport.  The Red Falcon."

"You found the Marlyn files, then," said Quillbird. 

Lucretia nodded.  She licked her dry lips.  "He's the most dangerous one, isn't he?"

"Depends on how you define dangerous."  Quillbird took a long, deep breath through her nose, let it out slowly.  "Do you understand him now?" she asked.

The question surprised Lucretia.  "An explanation is not an excuse," she said, more firmly than she intended.

"I'm not saying it is.  Justice still needs to be served, whatever form it takes.  You think I don't want justice?"  Quillbird raised one pale eyebrow.  "But an explanation is the first step towards understanding.  And I'm asking, do you understand him?"

Lucretia thought of the red file, and once again felt a wave of horror mingled with sorrow.  "Yeah," she said.  "Yeah, I think I do."

Merle, who had been watching this exchange with Allen in silence, took her hand and squeezed it.  The gesture steadied her.  She gave Merle a grateful smile.

"Then there's only one thing I need you and your crew to help me with."  Quillbird reached into her pouch and pulled out a small journal, and tossed it on the sand at Lucretia's feet.  Lucretia picked it up and flipped through it.  To her surprise, it was full of notes about bond engineering, interspersed with strange arcane formulae she couldn't begin to interpret.  Scattered throughout were sketches of the dark, jagged bond engine the Red Falcon had used, from various close-up angles and exploded views.  And there were sketches, too, of two Davenports:  one desperate and haunted, another grinning-mad and earless; and a pale, bearded Barry between them, all working in a lab somewhere. 

Quillbird gave Lucretia an appraising look.  "I need you," she said, "to check my notes."

Lucretia squinted at the arcane formulae.  "I…I don't understand.  What am I looking at?"

"Notes to a bardic spell which, when interfaced through the Falcon's bond engine, will put an end to his reign of terror."  She let out a short sigh, and her gaze dropped to her feet.  "I hope."

Allen was peering over Lucretia's shoulder, immediately interested.  "Is this how you did it?" he asked, looking up at Quillbird.  "Is this how you turned our songs into stealth Fear enchantments?"

Quillbird blinked, apparently taken off-guard by the question.  "I--you mean--"

"I'm Allen the bard," he said, clapping a fist to his chest dramatically, "lately of Marlyn before I had to flee for my life!  I confess, I had secretly hoped that meeting my mystery lyricist would be a dramatic reveal, but not like this!  Not by discovering that my songs were being used to spread true horror in service to the Raptors, and pulling me into the crosshairs of a military conspiracy!"

Quillbird's shoulders slumped.  She seemed to shrink in on herself.  "Allen," she said, "I am so sorry.  I didn't mean to--"  She broke off with another sigh, pressing the heel of her hand to the spot between her eyebrows.  "No, that's not true.  What I did was deliberate.  I'm sorry I pulled you into this mess.  I only did what I had to, to save my family.  Even if it made so many people suffer."

"Hmph."  He crossed his arms over his chest.  "You still used me," he said. 

"I am sorry."

He regarded her for a moment.  His expression softened, and he tilted his head back to look at the stars.  "What you did was beyond any bardic magic I've ever heard of.  The effects weren't just terrifying, they were…extraordinary.  If I hadn't seen firsthand what terrible damage it could do…"  He shook his head, a bitter chuckle escaping him.  "I'd have asked you to teach me.  If this had been a better world."

She nodded, her face prematurely lined with sorrow.  "If this had been a better world," she echoed.  "I would have liked to teach you what I know.  There are many hidden secrets to bardic magic which, if used for good, could make the world a better place, I'm sure.  Spreading tales of hope and heroism instead of fear.  Bringing courage to weary hearts half a world away."  She stared at her feet.  "Maybe, if I'm still alive when this is all over, I can find ways to use this power for good.  And if I'm not…"  She shrugged.  "Well, if these secrets die with me, then that wouldn't be such a bad outcome."

"Hey there," said Merle, "let's not go thinking so pessimistically!  Sure, you did what you did, but you also dropped these breadcrumbs for us to follow, putting things in place so we can help you take down the Raptors, and that's what we're gonna do!  And if you walk in thinking, 'Well, it wouldn't be so bad to die,' then that's just going to make death that much more likely.  But you can't do any good if you're dead."

Quillbird blinked at Merle, like she had never seen him before.  "Whoa," she said, her distant façade crumbling, "you are _much_ cooler than Dark Owl."

"Yeah, don't listen to him," said Merle with a shrug.  "He's an asshole."

Quillbird laughed, muffling the noise with one hand as if the sound embarrassed her. 

Allen responded with his own chuckle.  "Well," he said, "every step towards stopping the Raptors is a step towards a better world."

"That's the spirit!" said Merle. 

Lucretia nodded.  "We can't undo what's been done.  But we can make sure it won't happen again."

Quillbird's smile was faint but genuine.  "Thank you," she said.  She glanced over her shoulder.  "I've been out too long."  She gestured to Flappy, who fluttered back to Lucretia's shoulder.  "Sorry about drawing you out in such a manner, but I couldn't risk getting close to the ship.  There's no more stealth bardic spells buried in there, if you're worried."

Lucretia held out her free hand, and Flappy settled in it.  "Uh, no problem, really."

"You should have everything you need.  All the pieces of this story that need to be told.  All that remains is to fine-tune the spell and give ourselves the best chance that it will work.  For that, I'm putting my trust in you."  She nodded, and turned to leave.

"Wait!" said Lucretia.

Quillbird paused.  "I don't have much time--"

"I just wanted to…I mean, there's one piece I don't know.  How did you…" she began, then shook her head.  "What happened to you?  How did you end up with the Falcon?"

Quillbird gestured towards the journal.  "All the answers you need are in there," she said.  And then she was gone.

 

#

 

Back at the Starblaster, Lucretia opened the journal.  Between the front cover and the first page was a slip of paper, folded neatly. 

 

**Testimony and Confession of Private 2nd Class Lucretia, Archives Unit, Border Brigade**

**12 September 1543, Farcry Desert, undisclosed location**

           

_As an archivist for the Border Brigade, my first major assignment was collecting and compiling the records for the Marlyn campaign.  I spoke to many that had been on the front lines, as I had not been.  One of those I spoke to was a gnome captain named Davenport, who had led the Golden Valley Company in the Battle of Broken Hill.  The company had been nearly wiped out.  Davenport was the only survivor._

_I found him in a tavern in Marlyn, sitting in a corner by himself.  He didn't want to talk to me, not then.  And I didn't push.  The aftermath of Broken Hill was still too raw in his eyes.  So I told him where to contact me when he was ready, and I left._

_But I didn't leave empty-handed.  That look in his eyes came with me.  A look of grief so enormous it is impossible to be borne._

_I continued my work.  But as I looked further into the Marlyn campaign, I found some troubling gaps, records that were missing or redacted for no obvious reason.  I followed paper trails, and began making inquiries in secret.  I even snuck into the Classified archives and bypassed the lock with a falsified arcane ID._

_If you are reading this, then you likely know what I found there.  The classified Marlyn file, Restricted Archives, cabinet 2-M.  Access limited to Commander Burton and Lieutenant Commander Palmer (deceased)._

_When Palmer was murdered a month after Broken Hill, we were all shocked.  When the murder of Brigadeers continued, all of them attributed to the one we called the Shadow Stalker, I noticed that Captain Davenport could no longer be found.  I guessed that he'd somehow made the same discovery I had, and was now bent on revenge.  But if any of the higher-ups made a similar connection, nobody brought up what should be a critical piece of information.  Davenport's personnel records, however, mysteriously disappeared.  And when the Shadow Stalker and Lieutenant Burnsides apparently killed each other in the desert and, conveniently, neither of their bodies were ever found, I knew this conspiracy went deeper than I thought._

_The Brigade's upper command, and Commander Burton in particular, went to great trouble to ensure that the Shadow Stalker was never linked to Davenport.  If word got out that a brigadeer had gone bad and started murdering his peers, it would not only turn the public's eye towards the Brigade in general but Davenport and Broken Hill in particular.  So they made him disappear.  Struck his name from the records, and reassured the public that the Shadow Stalker was gone, tossed in some anonymous grave out in the desert.  The few civilian survivors of his warren were so scattered in the aftermath of Broken Hill that nobody was left to miss Captain Davenport._

_It was a mess.  An awful, bloody mess.  And I, in my naivete, thought I could fix it all by myself.  I had met Davenport, and I believed he was a good person broken by a weight he should never have had to bear.  I thought if I could just talk to him, convince him to combine his testimony with my paper trail, we could bring about some sort of justice.  So I joined a caravan heading out into the desert, hoping to find the place where Lieutenant Burnsides had confronted the Shadow Stalker.  I thought perhaps I could find out where he had gone._

_Things didn't go quite as I expected.  I found Davenport when he led a small pack of raiders against the caravan.  I spotted him just before he was shot with a crossbow bolt._

_I saved his life._

_I dragged him from the fray and healed his wounds.  When he came to, I told him my plan and made my offer.  But this wasn't the gnome I'd met at the tavern, not anymore.  This was a monster._

_He laughed in my face.  Because I had saved his life, he would spare mine.  But he made me a counter-offer.  'Work for me,' he said, 'and do exactly as I say.  And I will let your family live.'_

_Forgive me._

 

Lucretia turned the page over, expecting more.  But that was all:  the story's ending was as cold and abrupt as a wall of ice.  The only other thing on the page was an illustration of her own two hands:  one holding an inked needle, tattooing her other forearm with the image of a long-legged bird.

 

#

 

"Wow," said Barry, looking up from Quillbird's notebook and glancing at Taako.  "I mean, d'you even think this could work?  Synchronizing bard magic directly with bond energy?  None of us have ever tried using bond energy as a direct magical power source like this." 

Taako shrugged.  "Honestly, it's a big ol' maybe.  Uncharted waters, my dude."

"Well, we have to try," said Lucretia.  "All we need to do is give Quillbird a clear shot at the Red Falcon, and let her do her thing."

Taako rolled his eyes.  "Ain't that simple, Lucy," he said.  "I know you're kinda a novice at the whole magic thing, so lemme break it down for ya."  He plucked the notebook up from the table and held it up like Exhibit Fuckin' A.  "This isn't like, we give her an opening and Quillbird pops a Magic Missile in his ass.  This is a hella complex, multi-layered spell with multiple moving parts that have to go off at the right rate, in the right order.  It's the equivalent of Quillbird doing magical brain surgery in the middle of a battle.  Which, Merle and I know how to do that now, natch', but it ain't easy and lots of shit can go wrong."  He tossed the notebook back on the table.  "The Falcon can move out of range, Quillbird could get interrupted and attacked, or one of the Falcon's little buddies can try countering the spell.  Or it might not work at all, even if we pull it off without a hitch."

Magnus had been looming in the lab's doorway, watching all this with interest even though he couldn't cast a spell to save his life.  "So, we need backup firepower, right?" he offered.  "A contingency plan."

"Backup firepower is never a bad idea, big guy," said Lup.  "But I think we'll also need to help manage the arcane energy flow.  This might be a multi-person casting."  She was poking around in various drawers and filing cabinets, looking for something.  Flappy perched on her shoulder like a weird-ass parrot.  Finally she tugged open a cabinet and grinned.  "Found it!"  She pulled out a boxy device, about the size of a shoebox, with a weird curly antenna on top and hand grips on either side.  She handed it to Barry. 

"Right, this might help," he said, switching it on.  "Bond energy output analyzer.  It was originally made to help monitor and run diagnostics on the ship's engine, but it should be useful here."

"Hey, do me!" said Magnus, waving his arms.  "Am I outputting any bond energy?"

Barry adjusted his glasses.  "Well, technically speaking, everything puts out some level of bond energy, even, say, this table—"

"Mags, your bond energy is off the charts," said Lup.  "We don't need an analyzer to tell us that.  We already knew."

Magnus gasped.  "The magic was inside me the whole time!"

"Pretty much." 

"Of course," said Barry, "the bard magic is another thing altogether.  I don't think that's in anyone's wheelhouse there."  He tilted his head in the direction of the notebook.  "We've got no way of checking if that side of her equations is correct."

Taako rolled his eyes.  "Oh no!" he said, smacking the back of one hand against his forehead.  "Oh, if only we had a _bard on this ship_ who can help lend us his expertise!"  He aimed his raised voice towards the lab's door. 

"What?" came Allen's distant shout from the general direction of the kitchen.  "You need me for something?"  Footsteps sounded down the hallway.  Allen stuck his head in the lab.  "I just want to reiterate my plan to NOT join an assault on the Raptors."

"Oh no, homie," said Taako.  "We just need you to help us with our homework."  He tossed the journal in Allen's direction.  The bard caught it in his hands.  "We need a fuckin' bard's perspective."

Allen looked down at the journal as if Taako had just handed him the secrets of the universe in book form.  Which, he supposed, was kinda true, considering what super-advanced secret bard techniques could apparently do on a massive scale in this world.  Allen nodded.  "Yeah," he said.  "That, I can do."

"Excellent.  We got that covered, Barold."  He flashed a thumbs-up to the scientist.  He glanced over at his sister, who'd taken Flappy off her shoulders and was giving it a long stare.  "What's up over there?"

Lup turned Flappy over in her hands.  "Okay, I'm gonna need an outside opinion on this," she said.  "If we go in there, we'll need a way to signal Davenport that we're on our way, so he's ready to move.  I was thinking of turning Flappy into the signal; it can already get in the base and it knows where he is.  Question is, should I go subtle or hella obvious?"

Taako shrugged.  "Go big or go home," he said.  "That's my motto."

"That's the motto of half the crew on this ship," said Lup.

He glanced around at the lab's various cabinets and drawers.  An idea lit up in his brain.  "Hey," he said, "let me hit ya with this.  What about those firecrackers from Cycle 4?  Got any of those left?"

Lup blinked.  And then she laughed.  And she kept laughing till she was red in the face, and hastily wiped tears from her eyes with the heel of one hand.  "Oh boy," she said.  "Cap'nport's gonna _flip._ "

Taako smiled.  "That's the idea."

 

#

 

Tucked in the middle of Quillbird's journal, Lucretia found several small, folded pages.  They were more yellowed than the rest of the journal, and their edges were ragged, as if they had been torn out of a different book.

 

**Journal of Private Lucretia aka 'Quillbird'**

**7 September 1539, Farcry Desert, undisclosed location**

_I think I've found a place to stash my journals and notes where the Red Falcon can't find them.  Even if I can't go home, at least I can talk to somebody, even if it's just a blank page._

_Holly always said I was more comfortable confiding in books than people._

_The Red Falcon calls me Quillbird now.  He knows I've dug up the lost secrets of bardic magic.  He wants me to use this power to compose songs about him, to make people terrified of him._

_I'll have to do it.  I have no choice._

_#_

**Journal of Private Lucretia aka 'Quillbird'**

**25 November 1539, Farcry Desert, undisclosed location**

_Need to record these observations.  Something odd is going on here.  Something doesn't sit right._

_For someone apparently unhinged, the Red Falcon's mood swings are incredibly predictable.  Like clockwork._

  1. _Gets progressively angrier and more volatile over the course of about a week._
  2. _Anger explodes in a fit of violence. He takes a raiding party to strike a village or a caravan, or if there's no good target, he'll just stab some unlucky person who's within arm's reach._
  3. _After this bout of violence, his anger is just…gone. He retreats to his quarters for the next 3-4 days.  Nobody but the Dark Owl is allowed to see him.  What little glimpses I see of him before he retreats, he appears tired and distracted, seemingly unaware of his surroundings.  
_
  4. _After this period of seclusion, he reappears and the cycle starts all over again._



 

#

 

**Journal of Private Lucretia aka 'Quillbird'**

**2? July 1540, Farcry Desert, undisclosed location**

 

_Still don't know what just happened.  Need to process this._

_I ran into the Red Falcon during one of his reclusive periods.  He'd left his room for once.  The Dark Owl was away, probably touching base with his Temple.  Not sure if the Falcon went looking for him, but I found him wandering one of the back tunnels, by himself._

_"Oh," he said, as if we'd just bumped into each other in the street.  "Hello, Private Lucretia."_

_He hasn't called me that since the day he took me hostage.  Being my articulate self, all I could say was, "What?"_

_He stared at me for a long time.  Finally he asked, "Why did you save my life?"_

_I told him it seemed like the right thing to do.  I told him I truly thought I could save him, at the time._

_"You were wrong," he said.  "You should've let me die."  He unsheathed one of his daggers and handed it to me.  "I'm right here.  I won't stop you."_

_I pondered it, I really did.  I could end it all now.  But I've never killed anyone before.  I couldn't bring myself to do it.  Not even him.  Not like this, at least._

_"Who are you?" I asked.  "Are you the Falcon, or are you Captain Davenport?"_

_He laughed.  "There's no difference.  Are you the Quillbird, or are you Private Lucretia?  You can't distance yourself from your sins just by changing your name and pretending you're someone else."_

_Still I hesitated._

_"Quillbird," he said.  "You need to stop me."_

_I raised the dagger.  He waited.  But I couldn't bring it down.  Gods forgive me._

_He shook his head.  And then he punched me hard, in the gut, and took the dagger back.  As I struggled to catch my breath, doubled over, he grabbed me by my hair and held the dagger against my throat._

_"You should've taken the chance when you had it," he growled._

_I don't know how long he held me there, helpless, my life hanging on the thin thread of his need for my power.  It felt like years.  But he finally withdrew the dagger and threw me aside with a snarl, and stormed off._

 

#

 

**Journal of Private Lucretia aka 'Quillbird'**

**January 1541, Farcry Desert, undisclosed location**

_The Falcon's predictable mood swings have stopped.  I don't know what that means.  But I think it's a bad sign._

_I can trace it back to the exact moment something changed.  It happened at dinner about three weeks ago.  He was seething, but nobody was expecting a violent outburst from him for at least another few days._

_Then the Dark Owl mistakenly called him 'Davenport.'  And the Falcon, without hesitation, picked up his knife and stabbed the Owl in the eye.  "That's not my name," he said._

_Since then, he hasn't had a single reclusive period at all.  He's just mad all the time.  Violence can come at any moment.  Far from leaving him exhausted, he delights in it.  He relishes it.  It makes him laugh._

_I don't know what this means.  But I think back to Captain Davenport wandering the tunnels and giving me a chance to stop him once and for all.  I think that Davenport is gone now, and he isn't coming back._

  

#

 

Commander Burton looked over the copy of the map of the Raptor's nest.  "And you believe these strangers will be helpful to us?" he asked, without looking up.

Terra nodded.  "Yes, sir.  They've been reasonable and forthright in all of my interactions with them.  The map alone is, I think, sufficient proof of their intent to help us."

"Assuming the map is correct," he said.  "Never safe to assume these things.  Still, I trust your judgment."

"Thank you, Commander."  Terra winced at the words she'd said many times before.  She had always trusted Burton's judgment as well, but now…Now she was holding back, keeping secrets from him, watching him intently.  Seeing him with new eyes.

He pointed to the rear of the nest, where a thin line indicated a backdoor bolt-hole.  "We'll send them in through the front.  Draw the Raptors' attention.  Then, once they're fully engaged, our main forces can slip in through the rear entrance and strike from behind."

Terra winced.  Sending a group of six to the front gates would get them slaughtered.  "Sir, may I suggest an alternate plan?" 

Burton raised an eyebrow.

"They're a smaller group," she said.  "Let us take the main entrance.  A smaller party can more easily use the narrow rear entrance to their advantage, slip in undetected and strike from within.  It will still divide the Raptors' attention, but their likelihood of success will be much higher."

"That will put our main forces at greater risk," he said. 

She stiffened her spine.  "We'll be at risk, yes," she said, "but we can afford to take the brunt of a few dozen undead.  They cannot."

Burton regarded her coolly.  "Very well," he said, after too long a moment.  "Give the orders, and muster the troops.  We leave tomorrow at dusk."


	24. Breaking Out, Breaking In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taako trusts his sister(s). Flappy has a blast. Magnus asks for a favor.

_Cycle 4…_

"Okay," said Davenport, waving a hand to indicate he'd finished dictating, "read that back to me."

Lucretia looked down at the red IPRE notebook.  "New IPRE rule #157.  The insertion of firecrackers or other incendiary or explosive devices into items not authorized for such use is strictly forbidden, especially while inside the Starblaster and/or for the purposes of surprising or 'pranking' teammates.  This rule hereby authorized by Captain Davenport of the IPRE, I can't believe I have to spell this out, Lup."  She bit her lip, uncertain.  "Um, are you sure you want me to keep in that last part, Captain?"

Davenport kept a stern, steady gaze on Lup, who had schooled her own face into looking suitably contrite.  "Yes," he said, "I do."

At Lup's side, Taako sighed dramatically.  There was a distinct air of dejection in the ship's common room, as yet another crazy stunt to blow off steam had been quashed by Captain "Serious Business" Davenport.

The gnome took a deep breath and straightened his jacket.  "Taako," he said, "do you still have that ceramic tea service that you referred to as, and I quote, 'a hideous sin against good taste' and 'like someone decoupaged their grandmother's ugly curtains to her kitchen linoleum'?"

"Uh, yeah…?"  Taako glanced at Lup.  "The one we got from that asshole diplomat last cycle?"

"Yes, that."  Davenport nodded.  "As the next order of business, as Captain, I am officially authorizing that tea service for use with incendiary or explosive devices…provided it is done outside."

Lup did a double-take.  The captain wasn't smiling, but one eyebrow was arched in dry amusement. 

Taako whooped, and ran to get the tea service.  "Yeah, time to blow shit up!"

"Hell yeah!" Lup said, grinning.  Impulsively, she picked Davenport up and swung him around in a grateful hug.

There was a sudden sharp intake of breath from both him and the rest of the crew, just as she realized she had never hugged him before, that it was probably inappropriate under a dozen IPRE rules, and that Davenport had made it clear on multiple occasions that he did not like to be picked up and carried.  She stopped spinning.  Davenport's face was red, and his mouth was pressed into a hard line.  She braced herself for a snapped reprimand. 

But instead he just cleared his throat and said calmly, "You can, uh, put me down now."

"Oh sure, Cap.  Sorry about that."  She set him down.

"It's all right, Lup."  He straightened his jacket.  "Just don't do that again.  Without asking first.  I mean."  If possible, his blush deepened.  He was nearly as red as his uniform.  "Anyway!  Let's just go outside and we'll have a nice ceramic shattering party, okay?"

Oh shit.  Maybe he wasn't so above wanting a good hug once in a while as he let on.  Lup slipped that bit of data into the back of her head.

Later that day, as the local suns set in a seafoam-green sky, the IPRE whooped and cheered as the firecrackers hissed pink smoke before shattering teapots and sugar bowls in bursts of rainbow sparks.  Lup glanced at Davenport and saw a small, restrained smile on his face.  And she thought, underneath the captainly mask, there was a pretty cool dude.

                                                                             

#

 

Taako crept up to the lip of the dune and scanned the bluff that held the Raptors' nest.  It looked different from before, but his True Seeing pierced through the layers of illusion and his darkvision picked out a particular boulder, behind which was the bolt-hole that would take him and the crew inside.

Lup pressed near him, Flappy tucked into the pocket of her jacket.  She nudged him gently with her elbow and gave him the glance that meant, in their silent Twin vocabulary, _You good?_

He gave her a brave smile.  _Cha'boi's got this._

He knew there were a small handful of undead guarding the bolt-hole just inside.  Nothin' a little Invisibility couldn't handle.  He'd go in with Merle, drop 'em, then signal the rest of the crew down. 

"Is everyone ready?" Magnus asked in what he clearly thought was a whisper, but wasn't quite.  Taako glanced at the others.  Lucy looked grimly resolved--she was getting good at her Serious Business face--and Barry, rigged out with every arcane-energy-responsive piece of tech he could reasonably carry, looked ready to throw up, but he nodded.  Taako gave him massive props for courage.  Barry had had a bad time in there already; he, more than anyone, knew what awaited them inside.

Okay, so maybe Lup didn't have the worst taste in guys.

Merle gave him a shrug.  "Ready when you are, Taako."

Taako flicked his fingers and threw the Invisibility spell over the two of them.  He saw Merle shimmer from view as his own body became transparent against the sand.

"You know," came Lup's voice, "that spell's gonna drop the moment you cross the threshold.  If only you had the password."

He glanced at Lup, but the voice had come from behind and above him.  He rolled up into a crouch just as the Fire Hawk landed beside the group, her own Invisibility shimmering away.  The Vulture and the Eagle stood behind her, the former looking uncertain and the latter looking sullen and annoyed.  Spectacles of True Seeing perched on his nose.

"Holy crap!"  Magnus was on his feet already, fists out.  Both Lucretia and Barry stumbled back, and Lup's wand was already out, but the Fire Hawk only chuckled and held up her hands in a gesture of peace.

"Hey, chill," she said.  "It's all good.  We're not here to start any shit."

"With you, at least," the Eagle grumbled, examining his fingernails.

Taako stood up and dusted the sand off his front. He didn't bother dropping the Invisibility; they already knew he was here, and no use wasting the spell slot just yet.  "Well look, we got our own plans.  So, why don't we agree to, ah, a mutual not-starting-any-shit pact?"  He glanced at Lup, his own Lup.  She gave him the slightest nod. 

The Eagle shrugged.  "Hey, you wanna walk in there and fuck up the Red Falcon, sure, that's your business.  Don't let us fuckin' stop ya."

"Wait," said Merle, still invisible but clearly realizing the jig was up, I mean, who could miss the big impression of a dwarf lying in the sand?  "I thought you three worked for him?"

The Fire Hawk rolled her eyes.  "After he burned my Barry's face with a lamp?  Fuck that guy."  She hooked a thumb in the direction of the bluff.  "We never 'worked for' him, or at least, that wasn't the original agreement.  He just gave us crash space and we let him use the fruits of our research."

"Great way to do field testing, you know," the Vulture offered.  "He was _very_ into field testing."

"But after I was…incapacitated, he used me as his personal attack dog and started pushing Barry around."  The Fire Hawk gave the Vulture a soft look.  "And I love you dear, but you're terrible at standing up for yourself."

"Yeah, it's…it's kinda true."  The Vulture blushed. 

The Eagle rolled his eyes.

"So yeah," said the Fire Hawk.  "We just came to get our stuff outta there and fuck up the place a little.  And if the Red Falcon comes in range, I might just set him on fire."  She grinned.  "You know, for old times' sake."

Lucretia looked to the others, as if any of them knew more than she did.  "So, does this mean the enemy of our enemy is, um, our…"  She seemed to be cringing inwardly at the thought.

"Look, we're not your buddies," the Eagle snapped.

The Fire Hawk rolled her eyes.  "It's all right, Taako," she said to him.  "You don't have to be so damn grumpy about this."  And she turned and looked directly at him, Taako 1, Original IPRE Taako, and smiled.  "Look, I know these two dipshits got off to a really shitty start with you.  And I'm not gonna take it personally if you decide you don't wanna be buddies.  But you and short stuff here," and she tilted her head in Merle's direction, "you two saved my life.  I said I owed you one, and I mean that.  So I'm here to tell you the bolt hole has anti-magic wards all over it, so Invisibility isn't gonna do you any good.  Unless you have the password, which I have.  So…"  And she grinned wickedly, cracking her knuckles.  "How about I let you all in, and we'll call it even?"

Taako took a deep breath.  "Fire Hawk…Lup 2, I guess I should say…"

The Fire Hawk chuckled.  "Works for me."

"Cool, cool.  Well, I trust you.  That trust does not extend to the rest of your crazy cadre, both of whom have directly and willingly hurt my family," and he leveled a glare at Taako 2, who could see his face perfectly well, before looking back at Lup 2.  "But it does extend to you."

"Bitchin', and totally fair."

"That being said, this is--we're kinda doing a team thing here, and so it's gonna have to be a team decision.  Because _this_ Taako isn't a solo act.  He's a proud part of the best fuckin' group act in this or any dimension."

"Yeah!" said Magnus, like the big ol' puppy he was.  "Wait, that was me agreeing about the group act thing, and also I am totally on board for sneaking in."  He nodded to Lup 2.  "If Taako trusts you, then I trust you too."

"Works for me," said Merle. 

"Well…I mean, if you all think this is a good idea…"  Lucretia looked around and shrugged.  "I guess every little bit helps?"

"That guy vivisected me," said Barry bluntly.  "I mean, straight up sliced me open on a table and poked around my insides without my permission."

Lup 2 blew a strand of hair out of her eyes.  "Well, he's not gonna do that again," she said.  "But I hear you.  Barry--I mean, my Barry, you have something you wanna say?"

"Uh…"  The Vulture scratched the side of his face.  At least he had the decency to look a little sheepish about the whole thing.  "Yeah, sorry…sorry about that.  I know that doesn't make up for it, but, ah, yeah, I won't be doing that anymore.  But I hope you don't hold my shitty decisions against my wife.  She's, ah, pretty amazing."

Barry turned bright red.  "Your, ah…your wife?"

"Oh yeah, babe," said Lup 2.  "We're totes married."

Barry was sweating like a sponge being squeezed.  Taako would've found the whole thing funny if he had been in the mood to find anything funny right now, which he wasn't.  He did, however, notice the tips of Lup's ears were red, too.

"Well, ah….I mean…I guess I'm still mad about it, but no, I don't hold it against your, um, wife."  Barry's gaze flicked between the Vulture and Lup 2.  "She's um, pretty--pretty cool, I mean she seems pretty cool, and I trust her?"

"Rad."  Lup 2 looked at Lup.  "Whaddaya say?  Wanna see what happens when the Falcon has to deal with two of us?"

Taako watched Lup's face carefully.  If she wasn't on board, he'd scrap the whole plan, no matter how many others were cool with it.  But she just met Lup 2's wicked grin with a perfect match.  "Oh yeah," she said, extending a flaming hand in friendship.  "Let's give him hell."

 

#

 

Davenport woke up to the sounds of several footsteps in the tunnel outside his cell.  A flare of magical light made him wince.  He didn't know what time it was, but he was pretty sure it was the middle of the night. 

"It's not gonna work," said the Falcon, chuckling.  "You're trying to dream your way into my head again, but it's not gonna work."

Davenport sat up with a start.  The Falcon stood outside the cell, looking like an absolute wreck.  His face was pale and his eyes were red-rimmed and bleary; his hair was messier than usual, which was saying a lot.  Even his leather vest was half-unbuttoned.  He was flanked by the Condor and a very worried-looking Quillbird.

The Falcon smirked.  "You think you're so fucking smart," he said, leaning against the bars of the cage.  Davenport wasn't sure if it was intended to be intimidating, or if the Falcon was actually having trouble keeping himself upright.  "But I beat you.  I _beat_ you!"  He tapped one finger against his temple.  "Can't crawl inside my dreams if I don't sleep!  Bet you didn't think of _that_."  He laughed brokenly. 

The hell…?  He was pretty sure that last shared dream was at least two, nearly three days ago.  Had the Falcon literally avoided sleeping since then?  He got up from the cot, moving slowly.  The Falcon might be more vulnerable if he was this out of it, but that also made him more unpredictable.  No wonder Quillbird looked terrified.

"Nothing to say?"  The Falcon trailed one finger along the iron bars.  "Now that your plans to take over my mind have all fallen through?"  He laughed again.  "Nobody makes me do anything I don't want to do.  This is me, this is _me_ , this is what _I_ want!"

Davenport just watched him.

The Falcon's grin slipped.  "Say something!" he snapped.  "Say something, you fucking bastard!"  He clutched the bars, white-knuckled.  "Stop fucking staring at me!"

Davenport raised an eyebrow.  He tapped his fingers against his lips and shrugged.

The Falcon blinked.  The mad grin slid back into place.  He shook his head, chuckling.  "Oh yeah, the—the tongue thing, right."  He slapped his forehead and laughed for a good half a minute.  Like this was all just an embarrasing mix-up.  "Quillbird, take a note," he said when he caught his breath.  "Reminder:  the good captain here is missing half his tongue and can't speak.  Note to self, put out a missing person poster.  Missing: one tongue, reward: fuck all, who cares?"  He waved one hand, dismissing the whole thing. 

A spy-bat fluttered along the tunnel, flying just below the ceiling.  It paused, and turned its crystal eye on Davenport.  Pink smoke began to leak from its body.

His first thought was, _What the?_   His second thought was, _Lup's firecrackers_.

He laughed.

"What're you fucking laughing at?"  The Red Falcon leaned unsteadily against the cell door.  "You think this is funny to you?"

Davenport crossed the cell so he was within arm's length of the Falcon.  But the Falcon didn't reach for him; he just stared, bleary-eyed and blinking.  Davenport finger-combed his hair down.

"What're you doing?" the Falcon asked.

Davenport burned a spell-slot, throwing an illusion over himself.  Transforming once again into the Falcon.  The real Falcon recoiled, face blanching.

The spy-bat exploded in a shower of rainbow sparks.  The Falcon stumbled aside, whipping his head around.  "What the—"

Davenport kicked the door open.  The door which he'd left unlocked, and nobody had bothered to check.  The bars slammed into the Falcon, who was already off-balance, and knocked him to the floor.

"Condor!" the Falcon screamed.  "Stop—"

"Condor, cover your ears and run away!" Davenport shouted, burning a second slot for the audio illusion.

And the Condor, seeing the order come from the Falcon, slammed his broad hands over his ears, turned and ran down the tunnel.

The Falcon was climbing to his feet.  Davenport dove on top of him, and landed a solid punch on his jaw before the Falcon had a chance to grab his wrists in response.  They rolled together on the floor, limbs thrashing.  The Falcon got a solid hit on the side of his head, leaving Davenport's ears ringing.  He returned the favor, and was pretty sure he saw a trickle of blood coming from the Falcon's nose.

He was already breathing hard.  The Falcon might be loopy with exhaustion, but Davenport was half-starved and weak after his long imprisonment. 

"Quillbird!" the Falcon shouted.  "Get him off me!"  He managed to work one of his daggers free of its sheath, and lifted it for a blow at Davenport's shoulder.

Quillbird drew her wand.  A trio of magic missiles burst from its tip, and struck the Falcon's hand.  The dagger went skittering off down the tunnel.

"Ow!  You fucking _bitch_!"  He twisted under Davenport's grip.  "I'll kill you for this!  I'll kill your family--"

" _Sleep_ ," said the Quillbird, flicking her wand.

The Falcon's eyes rolled back, and he sagged to the dirt.

Davenport scrambled to his feet.  Quillbird stared at him, still seemingly shocked at what she'd just done.  He grabbed the Falcon and dragged him into the cell, locking him in.  Sleep spells only lasted a minute.  "My crew's here," he said—or rather, his illusion said.  "We need to move _now._   Come on!"  And he took her by the wrist and tugged her along the tunnel.  "We'll hit the lab first.  It's unoccupied.  We'll get the Light first, okay?"

"Oh my gods…" she said.  "We're doing this, we're really doing this…"

"Are you ready?"

"Um…technically, yes.  Mentally, no."

Davenport smiled grimly.  "We never are, when the world ends."

 

#

 

"Okay," said Magnus, "is that the last of them?"

A pair of undead dropped to the floor of the tunnel, no longer moving.  Merle snapped his holy book shut.  "I think that oughta be, for this section of tunnel." 

"Should be."  The Vulture sighed, nudging a corpse with his toe.  "You know, I did say I wasn't gonna try to stop you," he said, "but it still feels weird, seeing all my work undone like this."

Merle patted him on the hip.  "Let 'em rest," he said.  "It's way past their time, and the natural cycle of death and rebirth is beautiful in its own way."

"Rad philosophy there," said Lup 2.  "Dark Owl usually just stops at the death part and leaves it at that."

"Yeah, our Merle's pretty cool," said Lup.  "But I think we need to put our philosophy lessons on hold and focus on the task at—" 

"Incoming!" Magnus shouted, as a huge dark shape came barrelling down the tunnels at them.  He raised his shield and braced himself.  Lup flung a magic missile in their direction.

The figure was knocked off their feet and landed on the tunnel floor.  But their legs continued to twitch and kick.

"Holy shit," said Lup 2, bringing a torch forward.  "It's the Condor!"

Magnus's stomach dropped to his feet.  The Condor lay on his back, feet kicking uselessly.  Both his hands were clamped firmly over his ears, so he was unable to push himself upright.  But he was still trying to run in place, like a tortoise stuck on its shell and unable to right itself.  Magnus felt queasy just looking at him. 

"Uh, can we do something about this?" he asked.

"Sure," said Jerk Taako.  "One pile of ash, coming up--"

"No!"  Magnus turned, holding up his shield between his double and Jerk Taako.  "We're not blowing him up!  I mean, can we _help_ him?"

Jerk Taako rolled his eyes.  "Uh, he's already dead, homie.  That ship's already sailed."

The Vulture rubbed his chin.  "He is acting pretty weird, though.  No idea what the Falcon ordered him to do that's got him acting like this."

"Well, you--you were the one who made him like this!" said Magnus.  "Can't you do something?"

Merle scurried to the front and squinted at him.  "I could try Resurrecting him," he said slowly, "but that doesn't work if he's Undead.  And even if we properly killed him first, it'd take an hour to bring him back."

"Unfortunately, we're on a tight schedule," said Lup. 

"He's thralled, right?" said Cool Taako.  "Hey Vulture, can't you just, like, remove the thrall on him?"

The Vulture turned paler than normal.  "Uh…I'm not sure what'd happen if I tried that.  I mean, I was kinda experimenting when I Raised him?"  He adjusted his glasses.  "He's not a normal zombie.  I was trying out ways to keep his body and mind preserved so he could keep his skills and pass for a living person."

"So, he's like a zombie-plus?" asked Merle.

"Can't you at least try?" Magnus pleaded.  "I don't want to leave him like this."

Lup 2 hmm'd.  "Well, it definitely would count as wrecking the Falcon's shit," she said.  "I say go for it, babe."

The Vulture sighed.  "Okay, I'll give it a shot."  He pulled out his wand and gestured; a magic circle flared to life around the Condor's thrashing body, filling the narrow tunnel with a weird purple glow.  He flicked his wand a few times back and forth, as if he were carving words into the air.  Magnus felt even queasier as the air in the tunnel pulsed and vibrated. 

Suddenly the magic snapped off.  The circle's glow faded, and the Condor's body stopped moving.  Magnus stared, breath caught in his throat.

Lieutenant Magnus Burnsides sat up and blinked.  "Holy shit," he said.  "I _died_."


	25. Asking for Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davenport has a close call. Lup holds on tight. Magnus finds a hidden message.

There was a pregnant pause in the tunnel.  The IPRE crew and the gathered Raptors stared at Lieutenant Magnus Burnsides, and he stared back at them.  Then he exploded into action, leaping to his feet and launching himself at the Vulture.  "You asshole!" he boomed.

Lup 2 stepped in front of the Vulture, hands on fire, and IPRE Magnus moved instinctively.  He didn't think, he just _knew_ that the last thing anyone needed right now was an explosive firefight in a narrow tunnel.  He threw his arms around his double's chest, digging his feet in to stop his forward momentum.  "Whoa, whoa!  Hold on!" he said.  "You don't want to do this right now, trust me!"

"Like hell I do!" Lieutenant Burnsides growled.  He dug his own feet in and clamped his hands on Magnus's shoulders, trying to push him back.  "That man is an evil necromancer who brought me back as a thrall!"  Over Magnus's shoulder, he shouted, "I remember everything!  You're gonna _pay_ for what you did!"

"If you so much as touch a hair on his head," Lup 2 growled, "I will _end you._   And this time it'll stick!"

"Should've done that the first time," the Lieutenant growled.  "Instead of using me as a tool in your twisted plans!"

"Uh, to be fair," said the Vulture, "it was more the Red Falcon's plans?"

The Lieutenant roared and shoved Magnus aside.  He hit the rock wall hard, and the breath left his lungs.  Apparently his double still had an undead's prodigious strength. 

Merle stepped between the Lieutenant and the Raptors, hands up.  "Hold on there," he said.  "I think maybe we should all try to calm down and talk this out!"

"No, no," Jerk Taako drawled.  "I think, uh, the Condor here has a good point--"

"My _name_ is Lieutenant Magnus Burnsides!"

"Yeah, whatever.  Maybe we should let whats-his-name fuck up the Vulture a bit.  And then when he's done, we kill him properly--better fuckin' late than never--and everyone's happy."

"Taako!" Lup 2 snapped.  "We talked about this!"

Jerk Taako rolled his eyes.  "What, I come up with an idea that solves all the problems and now I'm the bad guy?"

"I'm not letting anyone hurt my Barry, okay?"

"If we could just talk this out…" said Merle.

"Worse than a fuckin' soap opera," Cool Taako grumbled.

"Lucretia," said Barry in surprise, "are you actually writing this down?"

Lup rolled her eyes.  "Gods, can we just--"

"Everybody, QUIET!" Magnus shouted. 

The tunnel fell silent.  Everyone looked at him.  Magnus took a deep breath.  "Look, if we get into a fight now, this tunnel may come down on us.  And right now, the Red Falcon is the bigger threat here.  We need to stop _him._   Lieutenant Burnsides," and he turned to face his double, which he thought had been weird enough when said double had just been a blank-faced boulder of a creep, but was now even weirder now that he was actually saying stuff and taking action.  "I know you're upset, and you have every reason to be.  Some sort of justice needs to be served here.  But right now, at this moment?  We need to rescue our captain, get the Light of Creation, and most importantly, _stop the Red Falcon._   We stop him, we can fix everything else."  He pointed to the Raptors.  "I'm not saying they're good guys, but they're no longer working for him and they did just let us in the back door.  Now I'm usually all for punching problems till they're no longer problems, but maybe, punching our sorta-allies may not be the best idea here."

"Yeah," said Jerk Taako.  "I've got nothin' to do with this.  I'm just here to get my stuff and leave this rat-hole."

The Lieutenant glared at the Raptors, and sighed.  He rubbed one broad, callused hand down his face.  "Okay," he said.  "You're right.  We need to stop the Red Falcon.  Vulture?"

"Uh…yeah?"

"Backpack me."

The Vulture blinked.  "Uh, ah-heh-heh…what?"

The Lieutenant frowned.  He held up his hands, palms up.  "I'm a _corpse,_ Vulture.  Healing magic doesn't work on me.  I'm about to go into battle, and the only person here who can heal me and keep me going is _you._ "  He pointed one thick finger at the necromancer, who had started to sweat profusely as he realized what was being asked of him.  "But if you want to start atoning for what you did, help me take down the Red Falcon.  And maybe afterwards, we can talk about what else you can do to undo the evil you've done."

The Vulture stared at him, his eyes huge from behind his glasses.  "Well, I mean…if my other option is you trying to break my neck right now, then…I guess?"

"You're suggesting mitigating his sentence if we help you," said Lup 2.  "Is that right?"

The Lieutenant sighed.  "I can't make any promises because I don't have the authority to lay down sentences," he said.  "Necromancy's a serious crime and I want justice to be served.  But right now, the world's been hurt so much by the Raptors that justice should first take the form of stopping more damage from being done, and helping those who've been hurt.  That takes priority.  And you can help me do that."

Lup 2 crossed her arms.  "Well, Barry?" she said.  "I'm all up for giving the Falcon some good ol' payback but it's up to you."

He looked at her, and at the Lieutenant.  His fingers brushed against the fading scar on his cheek.  "Look, I don't know where this is gonna go," he said, "but I wanna stop the Red Falcon."

Lup 2 smiled.  "If you're going into battle," she said, "then I'm going too.  Someone's gotta watch your back while you're watching his back."

" _What?_ " Jerk Taako snapped.  "You're serious?  Look, I thought we were just gonna come in here and get our stuff and blow up some shit and then leave!  And now you wanna, uh, run around with the righteous boner squad?"

"You don't have to stay, Taako," said Lup 2, raising her hands in a placating gesture.  "I'm not gonna make you do anything you don't wanna do."

Jerk Taako frowned, his gaze sliding away from her.  He sighed.  "No," he said, "guess I'm goin' in too.  Someone's gotta watch _your_ back, and I'm not trusting these chucklefucks to do it for me."

Lup 2 grinned.  "All right," she said, cracking her knuckles.  "Let's do this!"

Magnus wasn't sure if this was one of those things that justified a good _Yeah!_   But he decided it was worth a grin and a thumbs-up, at least.  "Let's do this!"

 

#

 

The Light of Creation was exactly where it had been left in the lab.  Good, that was one point in their favor.  Davenport crossed the room towards it, scooping up a dagger from one of the worktables so he would at least have some sort of weapon. 

"Okay," said Quillbird, "here's a pouch that should work for carrying the Light."  She dumped out the contents of a small leather satchel and tossed it to him.  He flashed her a thumbs-up and reached for the Light.

The door to the lab swung open.  The first figure he saw was the Condor, followed by the Fire Hawk and… _Lup?_   Before he could react, both Lups took one look at him and drew their wands.  IPRE Lup shouted "Hold it right there, Falcon!"

He stumbled back, held up his hands and tried to shout "Wait!"  But all that came out was "Wah--" before a massive fireball blasted out of the tip of the Fire Hawk's wand.  He stumbled backwards, tripped over a cable, and landed hard on his tail.

Quillbird leapt in front of him and threw up a shield.  The ball of flame hit hard and then dissipated.  "Wait, hold on!" she shouted.  "Hold on!  This isn't the Falcon!"

Shit.  He'd left the disguise up in order to pass more easily through the base.  He saw the confused look on the Fire Hawk's face, saw Condor also confused, saw Condor actually _showing emotion_.  And he saw Lup, _his Lup_ , and the rest of his crew arrayed behind her--

His breath caught in his chest.  He stood and dropped the disguise.

"Captain?"  Lup lowered her wand.  "Oh my gods, _captain!_ "  She dashed across the room, and Magnus was right on her heels, shouting "Cap'nport!" 

Davenport thought his heart would burst from joy.  He held up his arms, and let them both sweep him into the most glorious group hug he'd ever had. 

"Oh my gods, Cap, you're alive!" Lup cried, holding onto him with desperate joy.  Between her enthusiasm and Magnus's strength, the breath was being squeezed from his lungs, but he didn't care right now.  He didn't want them to let go.  The others were right behind them, Lucretia and Taako and Merle and Barry, all pressing into a tight circle that no power in the world was strong enough to break.  He clung to Lup's shoulders and was surprised to find himself laughing and crying at the same time. 

Lup's hands pressed against his ribs.  "Oh man, you've lost so much weight!  We're gonna have to fix that when we get back to the Starblaster."

He grinned.  He'd love nothing better than to stuff himself on the twins' cooking.

Magnus sniffled loudly.  "Cap'nport," he wailed, "I'm so sorry we left you, I shoulda been there to keep you safe, I shoulda protected you better!"  Tears were pouring down his cheeks.  He rubbed them off on his sleeve.

Davenport hooked an arm around Magnus's neck to pull himself closer, and bumped their foreheads gently together.  Magnus blinked.  Davenport gave him a warm smile.  It was a gnomish gesture and the human likely didn't know what it meant, because Davenport had never used it on any of his crew before.  But he'd explain, when they had a chance.

"Hey, put him down so us short folks can get in on this!" Merle groused. 

Lup and Magnus set Davenport down carefully, not because they thought he was fragile but because he was clearly banged up, a thoughtfulness he appreciated.  Merle squinted at him, hummed over his scabbed fingers, turned Davenport's head to look at what was likely a bruise forming on his temple from where the Falcon had punched him.

"You look like shit," he pronounced, like it was his official medical diagnosis.

Davenport shrugged, giving him a weak smile.  Merle handed him a handkerchief, which he accepted gratefully, dabbing at his eyes. 

"He was just in a fistfight with the Falcon," said Quillbird, as Merle cast Cure Light Wounds.  "We locked him up in a cell.  He should still be there, unless someone came by to let him out."

"Rad!" said the Fire Hawk.  She punched one fist into the open palm of her other hand.  "That should make pummeling him into the ground _way_ easier."

"Wait, hold that thought!" said Lup.  "I shoulda clarified, we're not here to kill him.  We kinda need him alive."

Quillbird glanced sharply at Lucretia.  "You think the plan will work, then?"

Davenport furrowed his brow.  What plan?

Lucretia glanced at the rest of the crew.  "We looked over your notes, and we're about as sure as we can be."

"Yeah," said Taako with a shrug, "we're kinda breaking new ground here."

The Eagle frowned.  "Wait, I thought the whole plan was to stop the Falcon!  Killing him is the best way to do that!"

"And it's really all we're good at," the Vulture added, scratching his cheek.  "That, and raising what we killed."

Quillbird drew herself up.  "My plan _will_ stop him," she said.  "But this is bigger than just the Falcon.  It's about righting an old wrong.  It's about justice long overdue."  She looked at the Condor.  "It's about Commander Burton, and what _really_ happened at Broken Hill."

"Uh, I don't care about any of that," said the Eagle. 

"Well, no one fuckin' asked you," said Taako.

The Condor regarded Quillbird, then nodded slowly.  "What do you need to make this happen?"

"Well, we've already got the Falcon," said Barry.  "All we need right now is that bond engine of his."

"It's in his quarters," said the Condor.  "That's where he keeps it when he's not using it."

"I can get it and meet you at the cell," said Quillbird.

Davenport tugged on the sleeve of her dark robe and pointed to himself.  _I'm coming too._   Partly because he felt a certain grim responsibility over the bond engine; partly because Quillbird seemed like the sort of person who was used to shouldering burdens alone, and would bite off more than she could chew before thinking of asking for help from others.

"No way am I letting Cap'nport out of my sight again," said Magnus, stepping forward. 

Davenport gave him a thumbs-up.  Magnus stood at attention and gave him the IPRE salute, which surprised him.  He couldn't remember the last time any of his crew had used that.

"All right," said Quillbird.  "We'll make it quick.  The rest of you, head over to the cell block, clear out the guards, and make sure the Falcon _stays alive._ "  She gave a pointed glare at the Eagle, who shrugged and rolled his eyes.

Davenport slipped the Light of Creation into its satchel, and handed it to Lucretia with a nod.  Lucretia was usually their dedicated Light-carrier when the whole crew was out on a mission; her skills were primarily defensive and she was usually at the back of the fightning, and could break away quickly if needed.  She took it with reverence, and slipped the satchel's strap over her shoulders.

She gave him a shy smile.  "It's good to see you again, captain," she said.  "We missed you too."

He squeezed her hand, hoping the gesture conveyed all the warmth, affection, and pride in his heart.  He wanted to tell her how much he'd missed her too.  He wanted to say how proud he was of all of them.  But there would be time enough soon, when he could sit down and write out everything he should have said a long time ago.

And then the crew, so recently reunited, split apart again.  Quillbird led Davenport and Magnus up and away from the lab, and the others plunged deeper and lower into the labyrinth that was the Raptor's nest.  Davenport wouldn't be parted from them for long, not this time.  And even as they disappeared down tunnels that took them away from him again, he felt their presence at his backs, holding him up and pushing him forward.

 

#

 

The Falcon's room was a disaster.  Magnus guessed it had once been one of the nicer rooms in the mining complex, probably used as an office, with a wooden door and smooth white plaster inserted between the support studs.  But now, calling it a messy room would be an insult to messy rooms.  Piles of clothes were scattered on the floor; half the drawers had been yanked out of a crude, dented dresser, their contents spilling everywhere; the mirror hanging over it was cracked badly; and a chair with a broken leg lay where it had apparently been smashed against the wall.  The bed wasn't so much a bed as it was a nest of blankets and sheets piled up in one corner of a mattress that looked like it had been used as knife practice.  The walls and ceiling surrounding the bed were covered in dozens and dozens of recruitment posters, all showing the same stern, grim-faced man pointing outward, with the words "I Want You / For the Border Brigade" framing him.  Various daggers and short swords weren't so much hung up on the wall as stabbed into it--mostly into the posters.

"Wow," said Magnus.  "Guess you can't complain about my room anymore, huh, Cap'nport?"

But Cap'nport didn't laugh at the joke.  He just stared at the room, chewing on his lower lip.

"It's not here," said Quillbird.  "That's…that's a problem."

Oh, right!  The engine.  Magnus looked around but there was obviously no sign of the weird power suit or the engine attached to it.  And there were no closets or chests where such a thing could be hidden.  He crossed the room and dug into the pile of blankets, but no luck.  "Now what?" he asked.

Quillbird opened her mouth to speak, but Magnus's Stone of Farspeech crackled to life.  "Uh, Maggie, you there?" came Taako's voice.

"Yeah I'm here," said Magnus.  "What's up?"

"Uh, the Falcon's not in any of these cells.  Looks like someone let him out before we got here."

"Oh shit," said Quillbird.

"Okay," said Magnus, "that sounds pretty bad, because the engine and the power suit's gone, too."

"Well, fuck," said Taako.

"See?" came a second Taako voice, Jerk Taako, in the distance.  "This is why you shoulda just killed him instead of fucking around."

"Uh, could you just shut up for like, a hot minute?  Is that too much to ask?  Just one minute of silence from you, _thank you_."

"…Just don't come cryin' to me if he fuckin' sneaks up and stabs you in the back…"

Quillbird tilted her head.  "Wait, I think I hear something…"  She stuck her head out into the tunnel.  "Sounds like fighting's coming from the main cavern," she said.  "The Brigade must have penetrated all the way in."

"Then we should probably head there," said Magnus.  "That's where this Commander Burton's likely to be, so that's probably where the Falcon's gonna go."  He lifted the Stone of Farspeech.  "Taako, get everyone to the main cavern," he said.  "Get ready for a fight."

"Oh, I am _so ready_ for a fight," said Lup.  Magnus was pretty sure it was his Lup, but he wasn't totally sure.  It sounded like something both Lups would say.  "Team Blazing Glory, out!" 

Magnus grinned.  "Team Awesome, out!"  He lowered the Stone and reached for a plain but sturdy short sword half-embedded in the plaster, and yanked it out.  No sense letting a good weapon go to waste.

He looked again at the grim face on the posters.  "Hey Quillbird," he asked, "is this him?  Commander Burton, I mean."

Quillbird nodded.  "That's him," she said.  Her voice sounded rough.

He looked at the poster again.  There was a dark smudge on the wall behind it, partly showing through the tear left by the short sword.  He tore the poster from the wall.

_HELP ME_

The message had been scrawled in charcoal on the plaster.  It was smudged and fading, like it had been written a long time ago, but it was still legible.  He pulled more posters aside. 

_HELP ME HELP ME HELP ME HELP ME HELP ME HELP ME HELP ME HELP ME_

Magnus sat back on the torn mattress.  Cap'nport slipped quietly beside him, inhaling sharply at the sight of the message, and letting out the breath in a long, slow sigh.  He reached out and placed his small hand on the wall, and closed his eyes.

Magnus rubbed his hand down his face.  Lucretia had summed up the contents of Quillbird's notebook for him, he _knew_ what the plan was, knew how this crazy rescue mission of hers was supposed to work.  But it wasn't till he saw these words that it finally clicked in his head.  He thought of Lieutenant Burnsides looking up from the crossbow bolt in his chest, and seeing Captain Davenport up on the edge of the ravine.  How, in that brief few seconds before he died, he saw the rage leave the gnome's face, leaving behind a sort of numb exhaustion before he turned away.

"Hey," he said, placing one broad hand next to Cap'nport's.  "This…really doesn't seem like something written by a crazy evil mastermind, does it?"

"That's because it isn't," said Quillbird, her voice bleak.  "It's the words of a prisoner."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Wow, DragonWrites, you know what's a good idea? Writing scenes with 12 characters in them!! And half of them are duplicates of the other half! This won't be messy *at all.*" :P
> 
> Anyway, we're heading straight for the climactic confrontation! Tune in on Wednesday and buckle in, folks, because it's about to go down.


	26. Convergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lup takes her turn on the catwalk. Magnus takes the stairs. Davenport adapts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for canon-typical fantasy battle violence and death

When Lieutenant Commander Terra burst into the main cavern, her first thought was, _Finally, we can end this._

The Border Brigade's forces had punched through the undead guarding the front doors, and found themselves in the core of the Raptors' nest while the raiders themselves were in complete disarray.  Only about half their projected numbers were here, the rest having scattered to deal with the break-in through the bolt hole.  She said a silent prayer that her red-robed allies could handle themselves, and threw herself into battle, sword drawn and shield up.

Commander Burton was ahead of her, a whirling blur of blades as he spun through the horde of raiders.  His signature technique, the one that had turned the tide of countless battles and earned him the nickname Whirlwind, cut through them like a spinning scythe mowing down wheat.

His twirling body slowed to a stop, as he took another quick glance at the battlefield. 

"We've got a turtle, sir," said Terra, pointing to the northwest corner of the cavern.

About ten raiders had hunkered down behind a short barricade of broken-down mine carts and railway ties, and were taking potshots at the Brigadeers with crossbow bolts and arrows.  One of them must've had some magical skill, because an arcane shield was holding off any counterattacks.

Burton nodded grimly.  "Not for long," he said.  He clicked his heels together, and the soles of his boots flared with a golden light.  He leapt up and over the crowd, the magical jumping boots taking him above everyone's heads.  As he arced down towards the huddled group, the edge of one of his blades glowed red.  The blade struck the shield, and shattered it like glass.  A cry of alarm went up from behind the barricade as the Whirlwind landed in their midst.  He spun in place, blades dancing, and the noise stopped.

And through the tunnel that Terra knew led to the bolt-hole, her red-robed allies came whooping and hollering and blasting raiders left and right.  Well…the twin elves came with all the noise and the blasting of a fireworks celebration, but the others came right behind them, serious and ready for battle and--what was all that equipment that Bluejeans guy was carrying?!

And then another set of elf twins came through in black robes, likewise lighting the place up, followed by what she could only assume was the original Lieutenant Burnsides in mismatched armor, followed by a second Bluejeans guy, this one weighed down with amulets and potions and a whole belt of ceremonial daggers and…was that a _skull necklace?_

She was about to call her Commander to help her, because these, she knew now, were four of the Raptor lieutenants.  But all of them were throwing themselves into battle alongside the red robes.  All four elf twins were blasting raiders, and Burnsides was trying to punch every bad guy that got within ten feet of him, while the second Bluejeans stayed behind him, muttering necromantic spells to patch him up.

Terra now officially had no idea what was happening.

 

#

 

When Lup burst into the main cavern, her first thought was, _Hell yeah!  Time to cut loose on these assholes._

And she did.

 

#

 

When Davenport burst into the main cavern, followed by Magnus and Quillbird, his first thought was, _Where's the Falcon?_

The cavern was a madhouse.  Brigadeers in white uniforms were pushing their way into the midst of several dozen raiders, who were fighting back with any weapons they could find at hand.  Team Blazing Glory had already arrived, throwing themselves into the fray, spells lighting the place up.  He stood on the catwalk overlooking all of this, but even from this vantage, there was no sign of the Falcon.

An arrow sailed across the cavern, straight at Quillbird.  She threw up a shield, sending it bouncing harmlessly away.

"Another Raptor, up top!" came the cry from below.  A few more brigadeers aimed arrows at her.

"Whoa, whoa!"  Magnus waved his arms.  "She's with us!"

Quillbird grabbed the railing.  "My name is Private 2nd Class Lucretia of the Border Brigade's Archives unit!  I've been held prisoner here for the past four years!  Um, please don't shoot me?"

The brigadeers looked at her uncertainly, arrows still nocked.

"Lower your weapons," Terra shouted from behind them.  "She's with us."

"She's with them!" screamed a raider.  "She's a turncoat working with the Brigade!"  And a trio of raiders with axes and brutal-looking swords charged up the stairs towards them.

_Damned if you do, damned if you don't,_ Davenport thought, rolling his eyes. 

At least Magnus was already on it.  He hefted his shield and barreled down the stairs, using his raw mass and impressive muscle power to shove the raiders back.  Two of the three raiders were struck with the brigadeers' arrows; one of them fell, but the other broke the shaft off his armored shoulder and kept coming.  Davenport drew his dagger, but couldn't get a good shot in, with Magnus between him and their opponents.  So he stayed by Quillbird, ready on the defensive.

His fingers clenched white-knuckled on the dagger and his skin prickled with goosebumps before he even realized he was hearing the low, awful thrum of the bond engine.  It whined beneath the roar of battle, growing steadily louder.  He grabbed at the railing with his free hand to steady himself as a wave of nausea rolled over him.  Quillbird shuddered beside him, and even Magnus gasped suddenly.  The sounds of battle seemed to dampen as raiders and brigadeers alike slowed and stumbled, distracted by a feeling like a wasp trapped inside their skull.

A brave and foolish young dwarf in a brigade uniform ran towards the noise, warhammer drawn and at the ready.  He disappeared into the shadow of a side-tunnel.  His short, booming battle-cry cut off into a pained choking yelp.  His limp body went sailing back into the cavern and landed among a cluster of raiders, who made quick work of him.

The Red Falcon emerged from the tunnel, bloody steel talons held out as he rose above the battle.  He was grinning from ear to ear.  "Who's up for a good old-fashioned _blood bath?_ "

 

#

 

Lucretia ducked as the dwarf went sailing into the raiders.  Her heart cringed.  She had no idea if the Falcon had killed him first or if he was still alive when the Raptors fell on him, but either way, that dwarf wouldn't be getting up again. 

She pressed one hand over the satchel where the Light of Creation was nestled, clutched the other over her wand.  Both hands shook as the bond engine hummed through her spine.  "He's here," she said through gritted teeth.

Lup knocked aside a rogue with a fireball and turned just as the Falcon emerged, calling for a bloodbath in a disturbingly sing-songy voice.  "Dramatic little ass, isn't he?"

Lucretia glanced up, saw Quillbird with Davenport up on the catwalk.  Magnus was on the stairs, pushing back a small pack of raiders.  "We just need to give Quillbird a clean shot," she said.

"Which means we have to find a way to hold him down," said Lup.  "Not gonna be easy, with that thing on his back."

"Evard's Black Tentacles?" Lucretia suggested.

"Too massive," said Taako, sidling up beside them.  "They'll block the shot.  And they don't hold still, either--youch!"  Taako winced as the Falcon picked up a half-elf brigadeer and threw him against the wall with a sickening crunch.  "Glad I'm not that guy."

The Falcon paused to scan the cavern and spotted them.  He grinned.  "Well, well, the gang's all here!  Just so you know, I won't just be playing around for Round 2."  He clamped one talon shut with a snap like a bear trap.  "Now, which of you should I kill first?  You, Lup?  I bet you've been looking forward to a rematch."

"Bring it, asshole," said Lup.

"Just fuckin' try it," said Taako.

"Uh, yeah!" said Lucretia, trying to look equally brave while standing behind the twins.  "We'll--your evil ways are coming to an end!"  Maybe if they kept his attention long enough--

"You won't be killing anyone else," came Burton's stern voice.  He strode out of the fray, one sword still glowing red along one edge.  He looked up at the gnome, one iron-gray eyebrow arched.  "You're the one they call the Red Falcon?"

The Falcon's attention was instantly riveted on the Commander.  He dropped closer to the ground, so he was just above Burton's eye level.  "Say my real name," he said through gritted teeth.  "Or are you afraid to acknowledge the monster you created?"

Burton fell into a fighting stance.  "You made yourself a monster through your own choices," he said.  "And now you're going to pay for them."

The Falcon was hovering in place.  He wasn't even looking at Lucretia or the twins anymore.  Lucretia glanced up at Quillbird, saw her double taking aim--

A half dozen raiders poured from another upper tunnel and were running down the catwalk towards Quillbird.  Magnus was distracted on her other side, still defending the stairs, and Davenport was just turning in surprise towards this new threat but all he had was a dagger--

"Lup!  The catwalk!"

Lup spun and flicked her wand.  A huge fireball blasted the catwalk beneath the raiders' feet.  Red-hot metal buckled and snapped beneath them, and they fell screaming to the floor.

The Falcon turned his head at the noise.  Burton launched himself straight at him, his jumping boots flaring with light, powering him with extra momentum.  He slammed into the Falcon like an arrow, knocking him into the crude barricade of mine carts.  Burton leapt away with another kick at the unsteady pile, and the barricade collapsed on top of the Falcon.

A shield of shifting dark smoke enveloped the Falcon just as the pile settled with a loud clang of metal and a crunch of shattering wood.  The Dark Owl had popped up from another side tunnel, hands outstretched and still swirling with dark magic. 

The shield dissipated.  Underneath the pile of wreckage, the Falcon wasn't moving.  Lucretia couldn't tell how much force the spell had protected him from, but it hadn't been able to absorb all of it.  She could only see the Falcon's head and one arm sticking out of the pile.  A trickle of blood leaked out of his nose.  She couldn't hear the bond engine.

The Dark Owl vanished as quickly as he'd appeared.

"Well," said Burton, "that takes care of that.  Terra, make sure the exits are blocked.  No gang member is leaving this place unless they're dead or surrendered." 

Terra glanced over at the Falcon, then to Lucretia, then to Burton.  "Yes, sir!" she said, saluting.

The Falcon stirred, groaning.

Burton's brow furrowed.  He crossed over to where the Falcon lay unmoving, and lifted his sword as if he planned to cut off his head.

"Once," Quillbird's voice rang out, "there was a gnome named Davenport."  Lucretia felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck as white light gathered around her double and arced down to the Falcon.

The bardic spell struck his unmoving form, and fizzled.  Lucretia wasn't sure if it was because the engine was still or the Falcon was too buried in rubble, but the spell failed.

Burton looked up.  "Private Lucretia," he said, "what are you doing?"

She swallowed.  "Once," she repeated, "there was a gnome named Davenport..."  White light curled around her outstretched wand.  "He lived in the Golden Valley--"

"Private Lucretia!" Burton snapped as the spell once again fizzled.  "Explain yourself, now!  That's an order."

She cringed.  "His story needs to be heard, sir," she said.

Burton frowned.  "Terra," he said, "Private Lucretia is a traitor who has joined the Raptors and is attempting to assist the Falcon.  Take her down."

"No, you can't!" Lucretia began.  "She's trying to help--"

Burton turned his glare on her.  "The Lieutenant Commander has informed me you can be trusted as our allies," he said, "but you are not part of the Brigade and you do not have authority to tell me or my subordinates what we can or cannot do.  Terra?"  He pointed to Quillbird.

Terra didn't move.  She looked from Burton to the Falcon.  "Sir," she said, "I believe we should allow her to proceed."

Burton's face grew red.  "We will discuss your insubordination later."  And he turned and leapt straight for Quillbird, boots blazing and sword drawn.

 

#

 

The Commander landed gracefully on the catwalk, sword at the ready.  Davenport drew his dagger and stepped between Burton and Quillbird.  A shield flared up around them; from the corner of his eye, he saw Lucretia with wand extended.  He flashed her a quick thumbs-up in gratitude.

In the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the Dark Owl again, moving close to the pinned Falcon to heal him.

The edge of the Commander's sword flared red.  He glanced at Davenport, one eyebrow raised.  "I'm going to have to ask you to step aside," he said.  "Or I'll deal with you as I dealt with the other Falcon."

Davenport stayed put.  He tightened his grip on the dagger and planted his feet.  He reached behind him with his other hand, grabbing Quillbird by the wrist. 

Burton frowned.  "Come quietly, Private.  I won't ask again."

Quillbird drew herself up.  Davenport could feel her trembling through his grip.  "I'm not going to be quiet about this, sir," she said.

Burton nodded grimly.  "As you will," he said.  And with a quick slash, he struck the shield, which shattered like glass.  His boots flared.  He lunged, both swords flashing.

Davenport leapt to the side.  Burton came crashing forward, blades descending on Quillbird--

\--and passing right through her illusory form.  Burton stumbled forward, thrown off-balance by the extra momentum of his boots, and fell through the gaping hole where the catwalk had been blown away.

He barely had time to cry out before he landed among the twisted wreckage with a hard thud.

Davenport gasped.  The illusion dropped, and the invisible Quillbird flickered back into sight.  She ran to the edge and looked down.

"Oh gods," she said.  "I don't think he made it…"

Davenport followed her gaze.  Burton wasn't moving.  Red stains bloomed on his white uniform where broken iron had been driven through his body.

A scream cut through the cavern over the dying sounds of battle.  The bond engine flared to life with a crackle of sickly-yellow lightning, and the Falcon launched himself from the barricade wreckage and into the air.  His bloodied face was pale and his eyes were wide as he stared at the unmoving body of Commander Burton.  "No no no no _no no NO!_ " he screamed.  "He was supposed to be _mine!  He was mine!"_   He clamped his steel talons over his own head as if he were going to tear his hair out.  "I'm gonna kill you, Quillbird!  I'm gonna rip your limbs off one by one!"  The engine whirred behind him, and he rocketed across the cavern towards them, all steel and fury.

There would be no second chances with the Falcon, no opening to talk him down.  All Davenport had to save Quillbird was one more spell slot and a split second to think.

Rosa stepped out from behind Quillbird and looked up at the Falcon, her face a mix of confusion and fear.

It was like the Falcon had slammed into a brick wall.  He cried out and twisted in mid-air, desperately altering his trajectory.  The bond engine flared with a sudden jolt of power, which threw off his balance and sent him into a spinning dive.  He hit the cavern wall right below the catwalk, the weight of the armor tearing through the narrow support beams, and rebounded to the floor.  Davenport winced at the sound of scraping metal and snapping bone as the Falcon rolled to a skidding stop.

The catwalk creaked and tilted beneath his feet.  He scrambled back against the wall, but there was nothing to grab onto.

"Uh, that thing's gonna come down!" said Magnus, kicking aside one more raider and clearing the stairs.  "Time to go!"

Davenport grabbed Quillbird's wrist one more time and pulled her along towards the stairs.  She stumbled behind him, clearly having never dashed across a tilting deck in a storm.  Halfway down, they leapt into Magnus's waiting arms just as the whole thing pulled from the wall and collapsed.

Davenport clung to Magnus's shoulder, coughing in the cloud of dust thrown up from the wreck.

"You okay, Cap'nport?" came Magnus's rough voice. 

Davenport nodded, giving Magnus a reassuring pat on the shoulder. 

"You okay, Lucy Number 2?"

Quillbird made a noise halfway between a cough and a laugh.  "Lucy Number 2?  I'll take that," she said.  "Do I call you Magnus Number 2?"

"Sure, but I also answer to Mags or Maggie or Dirk Hardpec or--"

"Rosa?"

Davenport turned.  Through the clearing dust, the Falcon was staring up at where the catwalk had once been.  The illusion of Rosa hovered in mid-air, exactly where Davenport had conjured her. 

"You can't--how did--"  The Falcon blinked.  His eyes narrowed.  "It's an illusion," he said, voice flat.

Davenport dismissed the illusion.  Rosa vanished.

In all the years of his life, he had never seen so much hatred directed at him as the look the Falcon leveled at him then.  "How _dare_ you," he growled.  He clenched one steel talon into a fist and slammed it into the cavern floor, pushing himself up to his knees.  "How FUCKING DARE YOU!"

He stumbled to his feet, one arm hanging broken and unmoving, and limped towards Davenport.  _"I'm gonna kill you for that!"_ he screamed.  The Dark Owl appeared at his side, muttering a healing spell over his broken arm.   

Magnus had set Davenport on the floor and drew his shield, standing between him and the Falcon.  The Falcon tried his healed arm again, rolling his shoulder and bending his elbow, and the suit's pistons engaged with a hiss.  The bond engine spun furiously behind him and he began to rise.

"Fucking cycles be damned," he said, "you're dead fucking meat!  I'll tear you apart so badly no bond engine in the world will be able to stitch your pieces back together--"

The Condor barreled out of the battle and grabbed the Falcon by the leg, pulling him back down to the ground.  The Falcon swore and kicked at him, the bond engine whining with the strain of the sudden weight.

Davenport made a quick, sharp gesture.  Magnus nodded and ran to grab the Falcon's other leg, because the engine might strain to carry one Magnus but it certainly couldn't carry two.  The Falcon sank all the way to the ground again, until both Magnuses lay flat on their stomachs, their arms wrapped tight around his legs.  The Dark Owl's hands glowed with some dark power but Davenport had already signaled the twins, and Evard's Black Tentacles burst out of the ground and grabbed the dwarf, binding him and yanking him away as Lup laid down covering fire to clear a space and hold back the last of the battle.  Another signal, and Merle waddled up, throwing a shield around both Magnuses just as the Falcon started punching them in the heads with his clenched talons.

Because despite what the Falcon thought, after seventeen years and countless missions together, Davenport didn't need words to lead his crew.

"Quillbird!" Lucretia cried, throwing up a barrier to help Lup create a space.  "You've got an opening!"

Quillbird didn't hesitate.  She pulled out her wand and circled around the grounded Falcon, taking aim at the bond engine.  "Once," she intoned, "there was a gnome named Davenport..." 

Light arced from her wand and struck the spinning circle straight on.  The engine crackled with a sudden burst of yellow light.  The Falcon grunted with the shock of it, pausing in his relentless assault on the Magnuses to glare over his shoulder.  "Quillbird, what the fuck are you doing?"

But Quillbird wasn't doing anything.  The white light snapped off, and the spell fizzled.  She turned pale, her eyes widening in surprise.  "Once, there was a gnome named Davenport," she tried again.  "He lived in the Golden Valley Warren..."  And again the spell hit the bond engine, threads of white light reaching around it and then sputtering out.  "It's not working," she said.  "Why isn't it working?"

Barry was beside her, squinting at the readout of the bond analyzer in his hands.  "There's some kind of…interference?  The energy isn't synching up properly.  The spell's not connecting!"

"I was so sure it would work..."  Quillbird looked at her wand.

"Well, whatever the fuck you idiots are trying," snapped the Eagle, transforming a raider into a cockroach before quashing it underfoot, "it didn't work!  So just kill him and get it over with!  Problem solved!"

Davenport pulled the analyzer from Barry's grip to glance over the readouts.  Whatever Quillbird and his crew were trying, her spell was attempting to channel bond energy directly through the engine and into the Falcon.  But the spell wasn't synchronizing with the engine because the frequencies weren't compatible.  Because the Falcon had modified the inputs.

And Davenport couldn't modify it back:  not in the middle of battle, not when time was short and the engine still running.  What they needed was a conduit that could force the connection.  What they needed was an adaptor.

He handed the analyzer back to Barry and ran for the Falcon's bond engine:  the engine he had created, the engine that drew on all his dark unspoken nightmares.  He took a deep breath, hoping this would work.

He stuck his hand through the spinning circle, and grabbed the tether port.

Terror struck him like a blow.  _The Hunger is at his back, he tries to fly away but he's too slow, he can't escape it, sticky black tendrils are wrapping around the Starblaster and crushing it, his crew is screaming, they're dying, the mission is going to fail and it's his fault his fault HIS FAULT--_

He forced his eyes open, tried to ignore the frantic beating of his heart.  Through a haze of yellow light, he could see his crew.  They seemed far away, on the other side of an impassable canyon.  But they were _here_ , alive, with him.  His beautiful, brilliant crew.  His friends.

He extended his other hand towards Quillbird.  _Aim for me_ , he mouthed.

Lucretia's eyes were wide as saucers.  "Are you crazy?!" she cried, just as Quillbird asked, stone-faced, "Are you sure?"

He nodded.

She extended her wand.  "Once," she said, "there was a gnome named Davenport..."

The spell struck him, and the world went white.


	27. Falcon's Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davenport & Davenport have a meeting of minds. Taako performs magical surgery. Lucretia braces herselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, just a heads up that this chapter is pretty heavy. Content warning for graphic battlefield violence and death, grief, and suicidal thoughts. Take care of yourselves. I love you all!

"Once, there was a gnome named Davenport."

It was like running into a wall made of pure rage.  The sensation would have knocked Davenport backwards, if the power flowing through his whole body wasn't pushing him _forwards_ , pressing him against this burning wall.

"He lived in the Golden Valley Warren…"

He could feel the Falcon's presence behind this wall, which was peeling away where he touched it.  The power pulsed through him to the rhythm of Quillbird's words.  The wall came down, and he grabbed the Falcon before his double could turn and flee. 

"…and he wanted to build a train."

The floor dropped out from beneath him and he was falling, they were falling together…

           

#

 

Davenport paced in the narrow entry hall, tapping his fingers.  He paused in front of the mirror, straightening his tie, checking his hair for the fifteenth time.

Captain Davenport paused.  It was his face in the mirror, but this wasn't his memory.  He was here but not here, moving through the Falcon's life, a part of it but not.  Like a ghost hovering just behind his shoulder.

A soft chuckle sounded behind him.  "Nervous?" said his Uncle Pinley.  "Just take deep breaths."

"Considering the circumstances," said Davenport, "I think I've a right to be a little nervous."

Uncle Pinley waved a hand, dismissing his concerns.  "You'll do fine," he said.  "Just speak from the heart."

"While I appreciate your faith in me, uncle, I'm an engineer, not an orator.  I've never—"  He cleared his throat.  "The whole warren's going to be there.  And I've got to convince the council to do something we've never done before.  It's going to be a hard sell.  If I botch this, they could sink everything we've been working towards for months!"  He glanced again at the front door.  "And where the _hell_ is Corbin?" 

"Daaa-aav!" Rosa sang, bouncing in after her father.  "Momma says you have to watch your language.  It's not nice to swear in front of sweet little girls."

Davenport chuckled.  "Well, I'll let you know if I run into any sweet little girls."  She scrunched up her face in annoyance, and he raised his hands in defeat.  "Okay, okay, I'll watch my mouth."  He checked his pocketwatch.  "Still, Corbin should have been here already.  We were all going to walk over together."

Pinley shrugged.  "You know her, she probably had another idea about fuel efficiency and had to write it all down immediately.  But she'll be here in plenty of time, and we'll walk over together, and we'll all be together in front of the council.  You won't be alone."  Pinley put a hand on his shoulder.

Davenport took a deep breath and tried to relax.  It didn't work.  "What if we're asking too much?" he asked, nervously clutching the tube of blueprints in his hands.  "What if the warren can't afford it?  What if nobody's interested?  I mean, a _train_ , uncle!  It'd take years to build, what if—"

"Hey Dav?"  Rosa tugged on his waistcoat.  "Tell me again what the train will be like?"

He sighed, and gave his little cousin an affectionate smile.  Crouching down so he was at eye-level with her, he said, "Well, it's going to have an engine car at front, and ideally at least two passenger cars to start, and a sleeper car.  And the seats are gonna be all different sizes so all the races can ride in comfort.  And there'll be a dining car, of course, that'll serve all sorts of food and drinks, and the engine at the front will have a big coal burner…"  Warming up to his favorite subject, he popped open the tube and unrolled the blueprints he'd shown her a dozen times before.  "And with our new engine design, it should be able to reach speeds up to 80 klicks an hour, so you can get to Sapphire Bay in an afternoon—"

She bumped her forehead to his.  "Just like that," she said.  "Talk to them just like that."  She gave him an impish smile.

Pinley threw back his head and laughed.  "She has the right of it, Dav!" he said, clapping Davenport on the shoulder. 

"You little imp!"  And he gave Rosa a quick hug.  "Thank you."

Pinley's ears twitched.  "Huh.  Is that the town warning bell?"

Davenport got to his feet.  He heard it too, dimly ringing down the valley.  The light streaming in through the foyer window dimmed noticeably.  He gave his uncle a puzzled look, opened the front door, and looked out.

Golden Valley was on fire.  Plumes of smoke rose from the upper houses lining the warren's main street.  Gnomes were shouting, running.  Screaming.  Engines roared as a trio of battle wagons disgorged Big Folk in mismatched armor wielding swords and axes.

"It's a raid!"  Davenport slammed the door shut.  His heart pounded in his throat.  "Cobras!"

"Cobras?"  Pinley was white as a sheet.  "They've never come this far up the valley before!"

"Well, they're here now!"  He glanced at the two of them, his elder and his younger.  "The bolt tunnel—we need to get to the bunkers!"

Pinley shook his head.  "Collapsed in the tremor last month.  Still blocked!"

"Shit."  Davenport no longer cared if Rosa heard him swearing.  Not right now.  He grabbed a sturdy walking stick from beside the door.  "Okay, we'll need to go overland.  We move quick, we stay quiet."

Pinley took Rosa's hand tightly.  "Nearest bolt-tunnel should be through Yarrow's root cellar, just across the main road."

Davenport nodded.  "You two follow me."  He took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped out into hell.

The fire had spread.  He saw bodies lying still in the street, he saw a Cobra in a big furry vest smashing open the door to Rik the Jeweler's shop, thought he heard a scream that might have been Rik.  He ducked behind the low brick wall that surrounded the yard, and waved Pinley and Rosa forward.

There were at least ten Cobras in the streets.  They were further down the valley, towards the Warren entrance.  It would be hard to gauge a moment when they were all looking away, but there was a discarded fruit cart in the middle of the street he could use for cover…

"Wait for my signal," he said, and slipped past the wall.  He ran for the fruit cart and dove behind it, eyes watering from the smoke and the clouds of dust that had been kicked up by the battle wagons.  He coughed.

A hand caught him by the shirt and hauled him up.  "Hey, look what we got here!"

Davenport opened his still-stinging eyes.  A scarred half-orc leered at him.  Over his shoulder, Davenport could see a line of destruction clear down the valley. He thought he saw, among the gnomes lying dead in the street, one wearing Corbin's distinctive green sunhat.  He saw plumes of smoke rising from the base of the foothills, from Marlyn Town, and all he could think was, _the Big Folk aren't coming to save us._

He tried to swing the walking stick but he had no leverage and missed his target.  The Cobra tore it from his hands.  He dangled uselessly in the Cobra's grip, nerveless, like a rabbit frozen in the grip of a falcon.  Laughter rang in his ears.

"Ooh," said another Cobra, a weaselly human in a black leather vest, "lookit his ears twitch!  That means he's _scared_."

"Oh, you scared, little fella?" asked the half-orc in mock concern.  "Scared we're gonna kill ya?"  A wicked grin spread across his face.  "Don't worry, we'll make it quick--"

A crossbow bolt lodged in the side of his head.  The half-orc dropped Davenport, then slowly sank to his knees and fell over.  Davenport scrambled away, desperate to pull breath into straining lungs.  He looked around, and saw Pinley wielding a crossbow too big for him.  Rosa stood behind him, eyes huge.

"Get up, Davenport!" he said.  "Get to the tunnel—"  A knife struck him in the collarbone, and he fell, blood pouring out of him like a fountain.  Rosa screamed.

The weaselly human pulled out another knife, but Davenport struck him in the knees with the walking stick and ran, grabbing Rosa and tugging her along.  "Come on!" he said.  He wove her past corpses and scattered, burning debris, eyes focused on the shadowed alley that led to Yarrow's root cellar.  "We're almost to the tunnel, Rosa.  Just don't look, okay? Whatever you do, Rosa, don't look, please don't look…"

He wasn't sure if he was telling her, or himself.

 

#

 

Captain Davenport gasped as he hit another wall.  The memory cut off, leaving only an aftertaste of ash and flame and terror.  He felt like his mind was split in half, part of him inside the Falcon's head and another part of him watching the chaos in the physical world.  Quillbird stood in place, her wand outstretched as blue-white ribbons of magic poured from its tip into Davenport's reaching hand.  Lucretia stood beside her, shoulder to shoulder, one hand steadying her twin and the other holding out her own wand, augmenting the spell with her power. 

His whole body tingled, felt light and unreal.  Bond energy coursed through him, shifted and changed where the spell met the engine's power.  Empathy and fear combining, twisting together into a rope tying him to the Falcon. 

"What are you doing?" the Falcon snapped, trying and failing to pull away from him.  Davenport's grip was still firmly latched onto the tether port.  "Get out of my _head!_ "

Davenport gritted his teeth against the awful nausea of the bond engine.  Maybe it was an effect of Quillbird's spell, or a side-effect of the bond energy flooding through his body, but the room was illuminated with power.  He traced the threads of energy like he'd been granted True Seeing, watching them weave through the air, connecting everyone in the room.  A thick cable of it ran between Quillbird and him and the Falcon. 

And the Falcon—

Threads of a magic he'd never seen before wrapped around the Falcon's whole body.  Layers and layers of a powerful enchantment cocooned him so deeply that Davenport could barely see him underneath it all.  He was smothered in a blanket of shimmering, angry orange and smokey gray light.

And Quillbird's spell picked apart its surface, like fingers feeling for loose threads in a knot and pulling them out one by one. 

"That day, Bloody Monday, devastated the Golden Valley Warren."  Quillbird's steady voice directed the spell, which Davenport realized wasn't an attack spell at all, but a complex counter-enchantment, stripping away the Falcon's defenses.  "The survivors were dispirited, but Davenport rallied them, determined to fight back…"

Another layer of enchantment came loose.  Davenport felt the next wall inside the Falcon's mind come down, and he pushed through, his mind finding the Falcon's and connecting…

 

#

 

"The council recognizes Davenport to the floor."

Davenport stood as the proctor handed him the arcane microphone.  Every face in the warren's expansive council chambers turned to look at him.  It was not as many faces as there should have been.  Half the benches were awfully empty, while the survivors of the warren crowded together near the front, taking comfort in closeness.  He swallowed, and turned his attention to the Elder Council seated at the head of the room.

"With all due respect, Elder Treeba," he said, "this is bullshit."

He let the word drop like a stone into a still well.  Low murmurs expanded from him like ripples.  Elder Treeba frowned.

Beside him, Aunt Greyfa shifted, putting an arm around Rosa's small shoulders.  But right now he didn't care about holding back his language.  What he cared about was the fact that his aunt and his cousin were dressed in mourning black when they shouldn't have to be.

"Look at us," he continued, extending a hand to the empty benches.  "The Cobras killed half the warren, and you're advising that we sit on our tails and do nothing?  The Border Brigade has a plan.  They have the means and the resources to stop the Cobras once and for all!  All they ask for is volunteers to help them.  People willing to join the fight.  And you tell them no?  Bull.  Shit."

Treeba's frown grew deeper, sadder.  "Davenport, this is not 'doing nothing.'  The Cobras hurt us badly, there's no denying that.  But that's exactly why we need to focus our energies on rebuilding, on defending what we have left.  We're not warriors.  Let the Big Folk put themselves on the front line."

"Oh, so we're nothing more than a bunch of gnomish stereotypes?" he snapped.  "That just because we're small, we can't pick up a dagger or a crossbow?  That we're good only for building weapons but not using them?"  He let the contempt ring clear in his words.  "It's that sort of thinking that tells the Big Folk they can just roll right over us whenever they please!  I don't know about the rest of you," and he scanned the room, "but I'm really damn tired of them writing us off as silly and weak.  Put a blade in my hand, and I'll make sure the Cobras don't make that mistake again!"  He looked back at the council.  "And I bet I'm not the only one here who feels that way."

The murmurs grew louder around him.

Elder Treeba shook her head.  "And you're suggesting taking the strongest and most able-bodied of our survivors and sending them to war?  Davenport, we can't afford to risk more losses.  We need everyone here, we need _you_ here.  You're one of the warren's best engineers."

_Because Pinley and Corbin are dead_ , he thought bitterly.

"We need your skills to rebuild—"

"And what's the point of rebuilding," he snapped, "if the Cobras will just destroy it all again?!"  His voice rang out and the microphone wailed, and he realized he was shouting but he didn't care.  A fury he'd never known he was capable of roared like a furnace inside him.  "Answer me that, revered Elders!  How many times will we have to rebuild?  How many times will we have to watch our siblings and cousins be slaughtered in the streets?"

The murmurs around him were a rising tide of noise.  Even several of the council members were muttering to each other.  Treeba banged her gavel, attempted to call order.  But even as the room quieted a little, he knew that the mood had shifted irrevocably.  The meeting had started somber and disheartened, but now the room thrummed.

Elder Treeba regarded Davenport through narrowed eyes.  "I understand your anger, Davenport," she said.  "Believe me, I do.  But I must ask you to consider if you're demanding this course of action for the right reasons.  Grief can often cloud our better judgment."

His fingers clenched the microphone.  "The right reason?" he growled.  "The only reason I need is a desire to defend my family and my home!  And that's exactly what I'm going to do.  Now," and he turned to face the rest of the room, "who will stand with me?"

There was a pregnant pause.  And then Tomas, the blacksmith, got to his feet and met Davenport's eyes.  Bilford and Bright, his twin nephews, stood with their fists clenched and their young faces frightened but resolved.  Janna the baker rose, and her wife Ilka followed, putting an arm around her broad shoulders.  More and more gnomes stood around him, till more than half the room was on their feet, stalwart and steady.

Most of the council looked around in shock, but Treeba kept her gaze steady on Davenport.  He saw her lips move, and felt her whispered words from across the room.

"You'll lead our warren to its death."

He shook his head.  _No_ , he thought, _I'm going to save us all._   And he held out his arm, and dropped the mic.

 

#

 

Taako gritted his teeth, trying to keep his wand steady.  He was glad he'd cast True Seeing on himself earlier, but the spinning maelstrom of layered enchantments in front of him was a clusterfuck even in the best of circumstances.  It was masterfully done, all the individual pieces slotted into each other and tied together, the layers feeding and enhancing each other to create exponential levels of potency.  But fuck, it was so bright and busy it was hard to look at.  He'd almost be impressed if it wasn't giving him a fucking headache.

Not far from him, he heard Taako 2 ask, "What the fuck am I looking at?" 

Taako didn't bother turning his head away from his work.  "A 12th-level enchantment a few dozen layers deep," he said.  "We wanna stop the Falcon, that shit has to come down first."

"Huh," said Taako 2.  "Good fuckin' luck."

Taako gritted his teeth.  If he wasn't doing magical brain surgery in the middle of a battle, using his own captain as a scalpel, he would've dropped everything and given his double the ass-kicking he so richly deserved.  But for now, the best revenge he could pull off was to ignore him.  He sent another layer of arcane energy into the spinning cocoon of bright silver-and-orange light.  "How we doin', Barold?"

Barry was holding up the bond analyzer in one hand and an arcane voltmeter in the other.  "Uh, I'm not sure if I'm reading this right, but uh, our captain's not only converting the bond energy but also increasing it?  I mean, normally adaptors lose a little power in conversion but he's doing the opposite?  I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing…"  He trailed off.

"Well, is he gonna explode?  'Cuz I think that should be, uh, our main concern."

"No, I don't think he's gonna explode—"

"Then fuck, Barold, just tell me what I gotta hit next!"

Barry glanced at the arcane voltmeter.  "I think there's a weak point coming loose right at connection point seven, uh….Aim for the Falcon's knee!"

Taako saw it, a thread of magic coming loose in the lower part of the cocoon, not that the cocoon was a physical thing with a lower part but Taako knew what he was getting at.  He snapped his wand in that direction and caught it, tugging at it like a fish at the end of a line.  Quillbird's spell arced down a moment later, joining with Taako's and pulling along with him.

"…And so the strongest and most able-bodied of the Golden Valley Warren joined the Border Brigade, demanding the chance to fight."  Quillbird's voice kept going.  "But Commander Burton didn't know what to do with a company of gnomes, and none of his officers cared to lead them.  So he put Davenport in charge of them, made him captain, and set them to work building arms and armaments.  But Davenport pushed for more.  His people, he insisted, deserved the chance to fight…"

 

#

 

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

Commander Burton turned from a map pinned on the back wall of his office, and nodded at Davenport.  "Come in, captain.  Have a seat." 

Davenport climbed up into the leather chair that had obviously been designed for Big Folk.  He knelt on the seat to give himself a little more height.  Lieutenant Commander Palmer stood at attention nearby, looking down at him with the usual hint of cold contempt in his eyes.  Davenport ignored him, pinning his focus on the Commander.

Burton opened a file folder on his desk.  "According to this report," he said, "your company has not only met its quota of equipment, but produced double the amount requested." 

Davenport allowed himself a proud smile.  "That's correct, sir.  I'm happy to report that the Border Brigade has enough arms and armaments to last till the end of the world."

_Now, will you let us fight?_ he thought, but did not say.  _We've done all your busywork._

"Well.  I must say, I'm impressed by your company's tireless dedication to the Brigade."  Burton arched one eyebrow, which was the closest Davenport ever saw him get to an approving smile. 

"Of course, sir.  The Golden Valley Company is happy to do anything to stop the Cobras."  He placed just a slight emphasis on the word 'anything.' 

"Even fight on the front lines?"

Davenport's eyebrows shot up.  He had been pushing for exactly that for so long, and been brushed off for just as long, that he was taken off-guard when Burton finally put the option on the table.  "Of--of course, sir," he finally sputtered.  "Yes, of course we're willing to fight."

Burton exchanged a silent look with Palmer.  He nodded and said, "We've located the Cobras' main hideout and are planning a major assault.  Of course, we'll need as many soldiers as we can muster for this.  We'll need to strike quickly, take them off guard.  We'll be departing in two days' time…"

Davenport of the IPRE pulled sharply away from the memory, stunned by what he was hearing.  The Golden Valley Company had been warming the benches for months, making equipment and doing little else.  They hadn't been drilling in combat, they hadn't seen any battles.  The Falcon had no training in field tactics.  Davenport hadn't come from a military background but after 17 cycles, he'd picked up enough strategy to see that this was a bad idea.  Two days was not enough time to prepare them for a major field operation.

But the Falcon didn't know that.  And he didn't know what he didn't know.  He was just eager and angry and thought that if someone just put a weapon in his hands, he could lay waste to his enemies. 

"Of course, we have a vital role for your company to play in this," Burton went on.  "Your people are naturally skilled at stealth, and we want to take the Cobras by surprise.  To that end, your company will strike first, and draw them out."

"We--we will?"  Davenport's nerves thrummed.  Blood roared in his ears.

Burton nodded.  "That's right, Captain.  You'll be our vanguard."

 

#

 

Davenport had only a split second to wonder why Burton was putting a company of inexperienced smiths and engineers at his vanguard when he was knocked abruptly out of the memory, back to the roiling edges of the Falcon's mind.  A wave of disgust and self-loathing rolled over him with such force he almost lost his grip on himself, almost forgot which Davenport he _was_.

"Too busy following orders," the Falcon growled.  "Too stupid to notice what was really happening!"  He screamed, and the scream was another wall that loomed between the two of them.  "I trusted him, I _trusted my commander_ , I didn't know, how was I to fucking know?!"  A hundred Falcon voices cried out, angry and horrified and twisted with regret.  "I was an engineer, I wanted to build a _train_ , I didn't know a thing about military tactics, I didn't know, I was naïve and he knew that, he _used_ me, I didn't realize, I just wanted to make those fucking Cobras _hurt_ , Rosa I'm so sorry I'm so so sorry, I didn't know, I led my people to their deaths, I'm so sorry, I didn't know--"

"--So Captain Davenport led his company, a hundred and fifty gnomes strong, into battle against the Cobra's stronghold at Broken Hill."  Quillbird's voice struck like a spear through Davenport's heart and into the wall.  The white-hot bond energy flooded through him, and he pressed his hands against the wall, and pushed--

_"Don't you dare!"_   The Falcon's scream seemed to split his skull.  "We're not doing this!  Don't make me do this!"

Threads of bardic magic plucked at the wall, pulling it apart piece by piece, until it weakened and collapsed.  Davenport grabbed the Falcon, their minds connecting again, pinned together by Quillbird's story and the unbreakable rope of bond energy.  "We keep going," he said.

Quillbird's voice was thick with sorrow.  "They were slaughtered."

 

#

 

The Falcon's memories of Broken Hill were fragments, sharp and cutting as shattered glass.  He remembered running at a wall of savage Big Folk, a cloud of dust rising behind them; he remembered throaty battle cries and the roar of battle wagons and _holy shit there's an axe lodged in Bilford's shoulder_ , he kept running and he reached the line of Cobras and jabbed a short sword into someone's calf and there was hot blood on his hands and he saw a mace swinging through the air and knocking Ilka's head in and she was down, she wasn't moving--

He hit the sand, rolling out of the way of a battle wagon, heard gnomish screams behind him, didn't know who'd just been run over but he knew they were probably dead, _hoped_ they were dead, it would be better than crushed limbs and bleeding out in the hot sands—

If death must come to his friends, he hoped it would be a swift, clean one.

He knew it was not going to be.

Death came swiftly here, but it was not clean, it was not fair.

He hamstrung another Cobra, who screamed and collapsed to their knees.  He slashed savagely at their neck when it came in range.  He didn't even see their face, didn't want to know the person he was killing.  All that mattered was killing his enemies before they could kill him.

So he killed.  Over and over again.       

He was terrified, he couldn't see what was happening, dust was everywhere and his eyes watered, he sobbed and choked on the dust and drove his spare dagger into a Cobra's eye and they were still moving so he aimed for the neck, the neck was always so vulnerable.  He drove the dagger in and out, in and out like a heartbeat.  Another Cobra came charging at him with an axe but Janna the baker struck his knee with a warhammer, the axe came down into her head instead and for a split second Davenport wondered why Janna was even here, Janna was a _baker,_ she should be at her shop making her delicious sourdough rolls and how did she end up on a battlefield?  And when he snapped back to the present, the Cobra who had killed her was lying prone beneath him and he realized he was blindly, desperately stabbing a corpse.  Someone was screaming and it was him--

\--He didn't remember how he got to the Cobras' fortified camp at the top of the hill.  He only knew he was there and he hadn't seen any other gnomes for a while, he'd been so focused on staying alive and cutting a path through his enemies.  Had he gotten ahead of them?  _Where were they all?_ —

He couldn't wonder too hard.  He could only keep killing till the battle was done, assuming it would ever end, assuming he hadn't already died and this was his personal hell.  He didn't want to kill anymore, he was _so so tired_ , but he didn't have a choice.  So he kept killing, until the world he saw was red with blood and wrath—

\--Blood was pooling into the pant leg of his white uniform.  It was his own blood leaking from a shallow slice on his calf.  There was a sudden sharp pain in his tail and he turned and drove his short sword into someone's gut and when they fell he went for their neck until they stopped moving.  There was a gnome's severed tail on the ground and he wondered who it belonged to because he hadn't seen any other gnomes in the camp, he saw other brigadeers fighting but none from his company.  And then he realized it was his own tail and he laughed because he didn't know how else to react to this whole absurd shitshow he found himself in.  He was getting dizzy and light-headed and some small voice in the back of his head suggested this might be from blood loss.  But there were still Cobras alive, still more people to kill.  He climbed onto the wreckage of a cart to try to get a better view of the camp, and something came sailing out of the dusty air and struck him in the head and he fell behind the cart and the red world turned black—

 

#

 

"Geez, there's just a _pile_ of dead Cobras over this way—"

"…Hey, check this out!  There's a gnome over here.  I think he's still breathing…"

"Cobra?"

"No, one of ours."

"Wait, did we even have gnomes in this battle?"

"He's wearing a Brigade uniform.  I think that's pretty fuckin' conclusive.  Here, help me get him on the cart.  Lost a lot of blood but he's still alive…"

 

#

 

Lucretia braced herself, feet shoulder-width apart in the sturdy stance that Magnus had taught her in that first long-ago cycle.  Wand outstretched, she poured more arcane power into the spell, threads of blue energy wrapping around the ribbon of blinding white light.  She pressed her free hand against the small of Quillbird's back to keep her steady, because the sheer force of the spell rolling out of her twin threatened to knock them both backwards if she lost control. 

"Davenport was the only survivor of the Golden Valley Company," Quillbird intoned.  "The Brigade gave him a medal for his service, a commendation for being so effective a killer…"

The Dark Owl's short form finally slipped from the grasp of the tentacles, and he scrambled out of range.  He looked at the two Davenports, strung together on a rope of magic, and then at Quillbird.  His eyes were wide and his mouth was open in confused shock.  Lucretia almost laughed; it was the first time she had ever seen an expression on the Owl's face that wasn't resigned despair.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked.  "You're gonna crack his mind in half!"

"His mind's already cracked," she said through gritted teeth, as another wave of magic threatened to push her back.  "We're just putting it back together."

At least, that's what she hoped.  She didn't know what would really happen when the last of those layered enchantments came down.  She didn't know how the Falcon would react or what he might try to do.  Right now he wasn't moving at all.  He was just standing in place, mouth open and staring at something far away.  Her own captain stood rigid, head bowed and face scrunched up in concentration or pain.  Tears were streaming down his face.  He shuddered, and the Falcon made a noise like a strangled whimper.

"But the medal was a sorry consolation prize," said Quillbird, "for a grief so heavy…"

 

#

 

The medal ceremony was small.  A handful of officers and local officials crammed into Burton's office and made speeches about courage and valor and what the Sungold meant.  Davenport didn't hear any of it.  He just stood at attention and stared straight ahead, eyes locked on the memory of a battlefield strewn with the broken bodies of his companions, friends and family whose voices he would never hear again.  Burton pinned the Sungold to the front of his uniform, right over his heart.  He had never worn anything so heavy.

He glanced up at the tall, broad-shouldered human who stood beside him.  The other Sungold recipient.  Davenport didn't know anything about Lieutenant Magnus Burnsides, but he recognized the hollow look in his eyes.  Both of them were so good at killing.

Both of them had lost everything that mattered. 

 

#

 

"It hurts," said the Falcon.

"I know," said Davenport.  "I feel it, too."

 

#

 

Aunt Greyfa lifted the last of her luggage into the little mule-cart and turned to him one last time.  "Davenport," she said, taking his hands in hers.  "Come with us.  You don't need to stay in Marlyn."

Davenport looked away.  "No, I should stay," he said.  His voice was low and rough, his throat thick with grief.  "In case, ah…the Brigade might need me.  Clean-up efforts.  That sort of thing."  He gestured vaguely at nothing.

She squeezed his fingers.  "You've done enough for the Brigade," she said.  "You deserve a rest.  At least in Sapphire Bay you'll be with some family." 

"Dav," said Rosa from beside the cart, "come with us."  There was no joyful spark in her eyes anymore, no bubbly eagerness that used to always bring a smile to his face.  Like everyone else who remained of the warren, she was carrying a grief larger than anyone should ever have to bear.

And it was his fault.  Elder Treeba had been right; he had brought about the destruction of the Golden Valley Warren.  The few who survived—the elderly, the children, the lame, the caretakers, those who were unwilling or unable to join the war—were too few and too weak to maintain the warren by themselves.  And so, in the aftermath of the Marlyn Campaign that had saved the Farcry Desert, the Golden Valley Warren had collapsed into dust, quietly and unremarked-upon.  The survivors were scattering to the winds, slipping into the cracks of Marlyn Town or heading to other warrens who would take them in.

How could he face them now?  It was too late for forgiveness, far too late.  He should be dead in the ground with the rest of his company.   

"No, Aunt Greyfa," he said, disentangling his hands from hers.  "You go on without me.  Be safe, okay?"

She put a hand to his cheek.  Worry and sorrow had etched their lines deeply into her face.  "Come when you can, then, will you, Davenport?  Gnomes aren't meant to be alone.  We need our families."

He wouldn't meet her eyes.  She kissed him on the cheek, bumped her forehead to his, then turned away.

And there was Rosa beside him, throwing her arms around him.  "Don't keep me waiting too long, okay?  Build a beautiful city with a train station, and then come find me.  And I'll be your apprentice and we can build the train together, okay?"

"Maybe," he mumbled, scooping her up into a hug.  The gesture felt mechanical, and he felt no joy when she bumped her forehead to his.  Joy felt immeasurably distant now, on the far side of the canyon that had split his heart in half.  He knew he'd felt joy, once; but it was like remembering someone else's memories.  Not for him, not meant for him.  His heart was dry as dust.

And then Rosa was in the cart beside Greyfa, and she waved good-bye as the caravan moved out of the ruins of Marlyn into the desert.  He watched them until they were out of sight, but he didn't wave back.

 

#

 

Davenport was ready for the next layer when the memory ended.  Bond energy flooded him.  Quillbird's spell, steadied and guided by his crew, picked at the next wall, expertly peeling it away.  The Falcon was in retreat, his resistance weakening.  Davenport felt his presence, confused and addled by the weight of emotions he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years. 

That's what this layered enchantment was, Davenport realized.  Whatever its original intent, it had effectively cut off the Falcon's memories from the emotions connected to them.  It had severed all his bonds of empathy.  The Falcon _remembered_ the things that had happened to him, but his heart was numb to everything except a blinding rage.

The Quillbird's story was re-forging all those connections.  It pulled out memories one by one while Davenport drew out a filament of emotion, and they brought the two together.  Catch, hold, wait.  Like synchronizing a bond engine.

Without warning, the crumbling wall began to knit itself back up again.  The barrier's magic pulsed and strengthened. 

Whoever had cast it was casting it again. 

The effect was immediate and horrifying.  The Falcon screamed and his rage flared up again, like kerosene thrown onto a dying bonfire.  The force of it knocked Davenport's mind back.  Stunned and reeling, he reached for the thread of Quillbird's spell to steady himself, and found it fading.

The broken wall behind him was re-forming, as well.  Quillbird's voice grew distant and quiet.  He couldn't hear what she was saying, he couldn't find the next memory, he couldn't—he couldn't feel his own body, his view of the outside world was vanishing into a muddled fog—

He was being walled up inside the Falcon's mind.

He called for help, shouting with all the volume his mind and voice could muster.  But he was cut off from his crew, and only the Falcon heard him.


	28. When the Owl Speaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davenport remembers his friends. Lup goes for broke. Taako throws some shade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for graphic violence and suicidal ideation.

The Falcon's mind was an inferno.  His anger unfolded like vast wings of flame, blotting out everything else.  The heat and the rage of it washed over and through Davenport, tearing away at him. 

_Burn everything--tear it all down--rip it apart--gonna kill everyone--they'll all pay--kill them all--kill everyone--burn it all to the ground--_

Davenport screamed.  He didn't know which him was screaming, he only knew he couldn't bear this anger, _his_ anger.  It was consuming him, crushing him, burning him up from the inside-outside.  And he couldn't get away from it.  He was trapped inside the Falcon's head, and the two of them would be locked together forever, pushing against each other until they forgot which one they even were—

The Falcon loomed over him, all flame and rage, his burning wings outspread.  He reached for him with hands like huge fiery talons.  _Get out of my head!!_

_I can't--I can't get out--_

_Then I'll kill you first!_

The flaming talons tore at him.  He threw up his arms to protect himself, but the fire burned his arms away and left deep furrows like claw marks across his face and torso.  There was no blood, no viscera, just ash and nothing where pieces of him used to be.

_Because this isn't my real body, this is a mental construct of myself.  But shit, this isn't good--_

_There's only room for one of us in here,_ the Falcon screeched, _and it's going to be me!_

Davenport tried to retreat again, but the barrier behind him was as strong and seemingly unbreachable as if Quillbird's spell had never touched it.  The enchantment stoked the Falcon's rage and then used that rage to build these walls, severing them both from the outside world.  No help could come from there.  He was either going to die or be subsumed in here.

_It's all right_ , came a low, soothing voice.  The enchantment curled around him now, pressing down on his shoulders and weaving around his feet.  _It doesn't matter anyway.  You won't feel a thing._

Gentle.  It was so quiet and gentle.  How could it make the Falcon so angry when all it did to Davenport was whisper sweet, numbing reassurances? 

_You don't have to suffer anymore.  You don't have to carry this weight.  You could never win, anyway.  Just let yourself give up._   The numbness climbed up his feet and into his legs, as the voice pulled him back towards a familiar dark place, where nothing mattered and everything useless was forgotten.  _You're nothing but dust, dust and ashes…_

He sank to his knees.  It would be nice to rest.  He was so tired. 

"Captain?" came a distant shout.  "Can you hear me?"

The spreading numbness stopped at his chest.  He looked down and saw the warm, glowing threads of bond energy pulsing outward from his heart.  He followed the threads to where they touched the barrier, to where they slipped through a tiny pinprick hole that the enchantment couldn't cut off completely. 

"Captain, hold on!" came the voice from the other side of the barrier.  Lucretia's voice. 

"Dav, you there?" came Merle's rough shout.  "C'mon, buddy, you got this!"

"We're right here with you, Cap!"  Lup's voice now.  "And damned if we're gonna lose you again!"

The threads glowed brilliantly white, forcing their way through the hole.  The barrier started to dissolve around it.

"Cap'nport!" Magnus's voice boomed.  "Stay with us!"  The force of his bond smashed the hole open wider, and more light poured through.  The light suffused him, lifted him, pushed back the numbness.  Threads of bond energy stitched his pieces together, re-knit his missing arms.

"Yeah, Capn'port, you'd better not let this fuckin' spell get the better of you!" said Taako.  "Fuckin' kick its ass into next Tuesday already!"

"You're almost there!" said Barry.  "Just a little more, just hold on a little longer!"

Davenport smiled.  _My crew.  My beautiful, brilliant crew.  I love all of you._

The barrier broke open with light.  The enchantment lost its grip on him, and he threw it off like a sodden cloak.  His whole form was glowing.  He turned towards the Falcon and smiled.  "I know it's already a tight squeeze in here," he said, "but I hope you don't mind I brought my friends."

 

#

 

Lup squinted her eyes against the bright white threads that connected the whole gathered circle of them, the crew and Quillbird, all of it lacing together into a brilliant ribbon of light.  Even Magnus and Merle and Barry, who weren't joined in on Quillbird's spell, had threads of white light connecting them to Davenport.  And Davenport was a fountain of light.  All of it poured into and through him, and smashed against the fiery cocoon of arcane energy wrapped around the Falcon.

Only a moment ago, his eyes had started going dim and blank, and Quillbird had nearly lost the connection.  But he was on his feet again, arms steady and eyes clear, his whole body glowing.

"How're we doing, Barry?" she asked.

"Uh, the energy conversion rate is off the charts!" he said.  "It's--it's friggin' exponential, at this point!  I honestly don't know how he's doing this."

She smirked.  "Guess our captain's a bit of a show-off."  She poured more arcane energy at the cocoon, looking for a weak spot.  She grabbed a fraying end and pulled.  It pulled itself back, re-wove itself into the the rest of the swirling orange light.  "Uh, Barry?  Quillbird?"

Barry frowned.  "It's not weakening.  We shoulda punched through the next layer already!"

"Fuck!" Taako snapped.  "It's repairing itself faster than we can break it!"

Lup glanced at Quillbird.  The woman was sweating, teeth gritted.  "But Davenport was…"  She winced.  "Davenport was…"

Shit.  Quillbird was maintaining the connection, but they weren't making any progress.  They were at a stalemate.  "Barry, is there any way we can boost the power here?"

"Laaa-ame!" sang the Fire Hawk.  Lup glanced at her double on the other side of the circle.  The Fire Hawk stood with her fists planted on her hips.  "You're all so _tepid_ and _nice_ about this!  You're supposed to do it like _this!_ "  And she threw her arms up in the air and yelled, grinning, "More power!  I need _more power!_ "

"Uh," said Barry, "I don't think that's how this works--"

_"More power!"_ Lup yelled at the top of her lungs, in her best mad scientist impression.  She was already halfway there anyway, she might as well commit.  " _I need more power, damn it!!"_

The Fire Hawk grinned.  "Hell yeah!"  And she extended her wand, and joined her own power to theirs.  "Let's do this!"

The Eagle's jaw dropped.  "What the fuck, Lup?  You're doing this now?"  He waved a hand at the two Davenports.  "This has got nothing to do with us!  We can just leave, you know?  Why are you even helping them?"

The Fire Hawk smirked.  "Aw, come on, Taako, where's your sense of scientific curiosity?  This shit's groundbreaking and I want in.  Barry?  My Barry, I mean.  You wanna jump in?"  She blew him a kiss and a wink.  "It's for science!" 

The Vulture turned beet red.  He looked at the gathered IPRE crew, and at the Fire Hawk, and then at Barry.  "Uh," he said, "so where are all the current connection points?"

Barry blinked, and looked down at his analyzer.  "Uh, we've got the bulk at 15, plus 17, 24 and 28."

The Vulture nodded.  "Lup--my Lup, I mean--try connecting at point 21.  I'll aim for 30.  Taako, go for somewhere in the 32-34 range.  We'll get a more even spread that way."  He circled around and aimed his wand at the cocoon by the Falcon's left shoulder.

"What?!  I told you, I'm not doing this!"  The Eagle crossed his arms over his chest.  "Nuh-uh, this is your fuckin' drama, not mine."

Taako rolled his eyes.  "S'okay, man," he drawled, in that far-too-casual voice he only used when throwing the choicest of shade.  "I mean, if it's too hard for ya, I get it."

Lup grinned.  Gods, she loved her brother.  And the look on the Eagle's face was priceless.  She would treasure it forever.

"Oh my fuckin' gods," he snarled, whipping out his wand.  "You chucklefucks better appreciate this!  'Cuz it's time to watch a fuckin' master at work."  Glittering arcane power shot at the cocoon, slicing at it with the grace of a dancing blade.

Quillbird took a deep breath.  "But Davenport was soon to find out the true secret behind Broken Hill," she said.  And with the help of three more Raptors, her ribbon of light flared up again, and tore through four more layers like they were wet paper. 

Lup grinned.  _Abra-ca-hell yeah._

           

#

 

The Sungold medal was bigger than his palm.  He held it in his hand, turning it so it caught the dim light in the only Marlyn tavern still standing.  It was last call, and it was quiet, so nobody bothered him in his small corner table.

The golden disk had sharp, curving edges like flames around the central circle.  He turned it over; the pin clasp was thick, and longer than his finger.  He tapped the sharp point with one callused fingertip. 

Over near the bar, Lieutenant Commander Palmer's voice rose in one of his typical rants.  He was drunk again; he often got drunk on quiet nights like this.  Tonight's rant was directed at Captain Hugh of the Redstone Company, his usual drinking partner.  Davenport grimaced, and chose to ignore Palmer, just as Palmer usually ignored Davenport.

The only other customer was a dwarf seated at a small table by the door.  He wore black and silver robes, and was muttering quietly to himself over a book open on the table in front of him.

Davenport turned the medal right-side-up again.  Laid the sharp edges gently against his inner wrist.  Pondered how little effort it would take to join the rest of his Company.  Wondered if it would hurt. 

"--damned gnome is a millstone around my neck," Palmer spat.  "Burton's been riding my ass to do something about him."

Davenport's ears flicked.  He glanced out of the corner of his eye towards the bar.  Palmer and Hugh probably hadn't even noticed him in the dark corner.  He was so small, so easily missed.

_They didn't see him there,_ said Quillbird.  _And they said things that night that they never meant him to hear._

Hugh snorted.  "Burton's the one who decided to make a gnome a fuckin' officer," he drawled, a little tipsy.  "His own damn fault."

Palmer glared at Hugh.  "And he wouldn't have done that if one of you sorry lot had been willing to take on that fuckin' company."

"And sit out the campaign warming the bench?"  Hugh snorted, and raised his mug for emphasis.  "No thanks.  Might as well demote me while you're at it.  Burton knew we all had better things to do than babysit."

"Yeah, well here we fuckin' are.  Nobody wants to lead 'em, nobody wants to follow 'em.  Now I've got a gnome officer and nowhere to assign him, because nobody in their right fuckin' mind's gonna take orders from him.  I'd have a gods-damned mutiny in a week."

Davenport's fingers clenched over the Sungold.  It was nothing he hadn't heard whispered behind his back before, nothing he hadn't already inferred from the quiet contempt with which his fellow officers treated him.  But it never stopped stinging.  It never stopped feeding the quiet rage in his breast.

_For you see,_ said Quillbird, _in the chaos of battle, Captain Davenport hadn't seen the bigger picture._

"Well, what did Burton think was gonna happen?  After the campaign, I mean."

_He hadn't noticed how there were no troops supporting his own from behind.  The Brigade's other three companies had circled around and struck the Cobras from the rear after the Golden Valley Company drew them out._

Palmer snorted, took another long swig of ale.  "He didn't expect any of those little fuckers to survive," he drawled.  He shook his head, chuckling.  "Vanguard, my ass.  Priceless!"

_Because, you see, the Golden Valley Company were never the vanguard._

_They were the bait._

"What did you just say?"

Palmer swiveled on his stool and looked down at Davenport.  He frowned. 

Davenport stared up at the Lieutenant Commander.  The Sungold's edges dug into his fingers.  Blood roared in his ears.  "What did you just say?" he repeated. 

The air tasted like ashes on his tongue. 

Palmer leaned down.  "Go home, captain," he said.  "You're drunk, and you're hearing things."

The Sungold was so sharp.  And the neck was so vulnerable.

In and out, in and out.  Like a heartbeat.  There was so much blood in the neck.

Palmer hit the floor.  Davenport saw red splattering everywhere.  The whole world was red.

Hugh was screaming now.  Davenport couldn't reach his neck, but he still had his dagger and Hugh's abdomen was in range.  Davenport launched himself at the captain, stabbed several times but the screaming continued so he pulled Hugh off the stool and smashed his head against the floor till it stopped.  He realized he'd been the one screaming. 

He gasped, reeling.  He was standing over two dead bodies.  Blood was pooling on the floor.

He heard a strangled noise behind him and turned to look up at the barkeep.  The man's face was ashen.  He looked terrified. 

"H-hey, it's okay," said Davenport, smiling to show the man he wasn't mad at _him._   He raised his sticky hands in a gesture of peace.  "Since it's last call, I don't suppose I can get another cider?"  He realized he was still holding the dagger, which was smeared red.  "O-oh," he said, vaguely surprised to see blood on it.

The barkeep turned and ran out the back door.

Davenport looked again at the two corpses at his feet.  The weight of what he'd done hit him all at once, and he sagged against a barstool.  "Oh," he said.  "Oh…oh my _gods…_ "

He turned and fled.

 

#

 

Davenport gagged on the memory.  It wasn't his past, it wasn't _him_ , but even he wanted to rip Burton apart.  His grip tightened on the tether port.

The Falcon cried out in rage, and abruptly twisted in place faster than Davenport could physically react.  The sharp whirring edges of the bond engine tore through the sleeve of his IPRE uniform and bit into the flesh of his forearm.  He screamed and yanked his hand back.  Power snapped and recoiled around him, and Quillbird's spell cut off.

"Cap'nport!"  Magnus turned towards him, reaching out as Davenport staggered back.  The Falcon took advantage of the distraction to land a solid blow on the Condor's head.  Momentarily stunned, his grip slackened and the Falcon flew clear of him, and landed stumbling ten feet away. 

"Hold still, Dav," said Merle, grabbing him before he could fall.  "Let me get a look at that arm…"

Davenport winced, holding out his forearm.  Blood was everywhere, soaking his sleeve and staining the front of his jacket.  The room blurred.  He wanted to scream, to cry from the pain and the weight of the Falcon's memories, the anger that was his and not his.  He just gritted his teeth and shuddered. 

"Those…those _fuckers_ …" the Falcon hissed.  He shook his head, as if trying to knock something loose. 

The rest of the IPRE crew and the five Raptors stood in a loose circle around him, wands out and weapons drawn.  He turned and glared at them. 

"You heard that, right?" he snapped.  "You heard what they did to me, to my people!  Now tell me what I did wasn't _justice!_ "  He pointed a talon at Lieutenant Commander Terra, who'd been listening to Quillbird's story with grim horror.  "Tell me the Brigade didn't _deserve_ everything I did!"

Terra drew a deep breath.  "What Commander Burton did was unconscionable," she said.  "But the rest of the people of Farcry have done nothing to deserve your wrath--"

"We were led like sheep to the slaughter!" he screamed.  "Why shouldn't I be repaid blood for blood?  I'm not gonna stop until the Brigade is nothing but a memory, until I tear everything down to the fucking--"  He blinked, shaking his head again.  "No no _no_ …" he moaned.  "No no no _stop it!"_ He looked wildly around the room, as if he'd suddenly forgotten where he was.  His gaze found and fixed on Davenport.  It was the same haunted, terrified look he'd seen in their last shared dream.  The look of someone desperate to get out.

Merle finished healing his arm.  Davenport glanced up at Quillbird, tilted his head towards the Falcon in silent question.

Quillbird was breathing hard, her face shining with sweat.  "Almost done," she said.  "Just a few more layers…"

The Falcon stumbled back, and was caught by his own Merle, his Dark Owl.  The dwarf's hands gripped his shoulders securely.  "Merle…" he groaned.  His narrow chest heaved with deep, exhausted breaths.  "It _is_ justice, right?  All of them…I need to, to make them all pay…right?  It's only fair."

The Dark Owl nodded, face bleak.  "Of course," he said, in a low, soothing voice.  "It's only fair.  They all deserve this."

"They deserve this…" the Falcon echoed, his eyes unfocused.

"This is justice."

"This is justice…"

"Oh fuck," said the Fire Hawk.

"Keep him quiet!" Lucretia shouted.

The screwdriver was already in Davenport's hand.  He flung it as hard as he could.  It went spinning through the air and smacked the Dark Owl in the face.  The dwarf staggered backwards, swearing under his breath.

The Falcon gasped, as if he were coming up for air.  He blinked.  "Merle?  _Merle?_ "  He turned around.  "Merle, what's going on--"

Davenport raced towards him.  Gritting his teeth, he reached through the bond engine one more time and grabbed the tether port.  Quillbird's spell hit him, nearly knocked them both forward, but he was ready this time.  Illuminated by bond energy, augmented with the power of seven casters all channeling their arcane power into him, he tore through the next layer before the Falcon could even react.

The Falcon cried out in surprise.  His words were split, spoken by two voices.

_Get out of my head!_ screamed one voice.

_Help me!_ cried the other.

 

#

 

Davenport stumbled against the well in the little plaza and began to haul up a bucket of water.  The nearby houses were all dark.  It was late, long past the hour when most sane people should be in bed.

He hadn't slept in three days.  Maybe four.  He wasn't sure anymore.

He set the full bucket on the cobblestones and began desperately to wash the blood off his hands.  What had he been thinking?  What the _hell_ had he been thinking?

He wasn't sure he'd been thinking at all.  He'd just seen the young human in the white uniform of the Border Brigade, walking down the empty street by himself, and it pulled his attention like a magnet.  He'd followed in a daze of cold fury, a seething rage which pounded on the inside of his skull like a second heartbeat.  He'd slipped unseen from shadow to shadow, and the moment the brigadeer cut through an alley, he'd slid up behind him and—

\--and killed him.  Just like that, Davenport had killed him. 

His hands shook.  It wasn't like the first two he'd killed in the bar.  That had been an explosion of rage and grief, a moment of madness.  But this…why had he even done this?  He'd never even _seen_ this brigadeer before.  This was straight-up murder.  He was a murderer now.

He knew the Brigade was after him by now.  They'd found the bodies in the bar quickly enough, and the whole town was on the alert.  He'd only escaped capture so far by a combination of sheer luck and the primal wariness of the hunted.  Scrounging for food, hiding in the burned-out husks of Marlyn houses like an animal.

The memory of that awful night at the bar slammed into him again, and he sank to his knees, biting his lip to keep from screaming.  Fury and grief burned him like a branding iron pressed against his soul.  He wanted to die.  No--he wanted to drive his knife into Commander Burton's throat like he'd done just a few minutes before to a random brigadeer whose name he didn't even know.  He wanted to make the whole Brigade pay for thinking they could fuck over his people without consequence—

Sandals slapped against the cobblestones behind him.  He whirled, drawing his dagger, which was still smeared with blood.  Gods, he hadn't even cleaned it.  "Who's there?" he snapped. 

"Just a fella out for a stroll," came a rough, resigned voice.

He held out the knife so it caught the moonlight.  "Don't come any closer," he said.  "I'll defend myself!"  If he was found, he'd be killed.  There was no mercy offered to people like him.  Every witness was a potential threat now, every encounter kill-or-be-killed. 

Just like Broken Hill.  His breath quickened, and his fingers tightened over the dagger hilt.  Gods, was this going to be his life now?  Would he be trapped in that battle forever, fighting off everyone he met just to stay alive?

"Hey, it's okay," said the voice, somehow earthy and breezy at the same time.  Like ashes carried on the wind.  The steps drew nearer, strolling down the shadowed alley towards him.  "I don't want any trouble, just lookin' ta quench my thirst—"

"I mean it!" he said, voice cracking.  "I'm…I'm a killer, you know."  He laughed, a little hysterically. 

But the figure kept approaching.  "Well," he said.  "That works for me."  A dwarf in black and silver robes stepped out into the moonlit plaza, and held up a book bound in dark leather.  "Have you heard the Final Word of the Lord of Ashes?"

 

#

 

Journal of Private Lucretia aka 'Quillbird'

_15 August 1543, Farcry Desert, undisclosed location_

_It's the Dark Owl.  He was there from the beginning. Drawn like a shark to a man with so much blood on his hands.  A man whose will was left weak and malleable under the weight of unspeakable grief.  A man whom nobody would fight for, nobody would miss._

_I think I may be able to construct a counter-spell.  I believe there is a natural sympathy between pure bond energy and the secret bardic techniques.  If I combine the two, I may yet be able to save Captain Davenport._

_I don't know if he's still in there, somewhere.  I don't know if he can be saved.  But I have to try.  I just need a massive source of bond energy, if I'm even going to have a chance._

_I need the bond engine._

 

#

 

"Just one more layer," said Davenport.  "Hold on, we're almost there."

"Fuck," the Falcon gasped.  "I forgot all this."

Davenport braced himself against the final barrier.  He could feel the Falcon's presence on the other side, small and broken and so, so tired beneath it all.  Not the Falcon he knew, but the one who had desperately scrawled a plea for help on the walls of his prison.  "This is going to hurt.  I'm really sorry."

The Falcon didn't seem to have the strength to be angry anymore.  "And then it's over?"

"Then it's over."

 

#

 

Davenport sank to his knees on the sand.  The Vulture descended on Lieutenant Burnsides' body like his namesake, beginning the spell that would turn the young man's corpse into a tool for Davenport's ever-expanding plan of vengeance.

He looked at this happening, and felt nothing. 

He had expected…something, at least.  Grim joy at the delicious irony of his plan, or at least some satisfaction at a long-desired goal finally reached.  But he felt nothing.  Not even lingering traces of the rage that had driven him only a moment ago.

He looked at the crossbow in his hands and tossed it aside.  Gods, he was so tired.

His breath hitched in his throat.  He rubbed his face, and was dimly surprised to find tears running down his cheeks.  Was he crying?  How could he be crying and not feel anything?

"What's the problem now?" asked Merle.  The Dark Owl, as he'd taken to calling himself.

He wiped his tears away, but they kept coming.  "Merle," he said, "Merle, why did I do that?  What was even the point?"

"What do you mean, what's the point?"  The dwarf waved his hand in the direction of the corpse, which was now…twitching under the Vulture's ministrations.  Davenport's stomach turned.  "This is your vengeance," he said.  "This was your plan.  You wanted this, right?"

He grimaced, tried to swallow the knot in his throat.  "I know, I said I did, but…gods, what did I even think this would accomplish?"  He dug his fingers into his hair and yanked, desperate to feel something, _anything._   "Merle, this isn't going to bring my family back from the dead!  It's not going to help their souls rest any easier.  It's not going to—"  He broke off, burying his face in his hands.  "Gods, if they saw me now…" he moaned.  "I'm a disgrace."

There was no help for it, nothing else he could do to fix this.  He took a deep breath, got to his feet and dusted the sand off his trousers.  "I'm going to Marlyn," he said.

"Marlyn?  To do what?"

Another deep breath.  "I'm putting a stop to this, Merle.  I'm turning myself in."

"What?"  Merle's hand came down on his shoulder.  "You do that, they'll hang you from the nearest tree!"

He shoved Merle's hand away.  "It's no less than I deserve," he growled.  "If they wanna bury the Golden Valley Company, I might as well let 'em finish the fucking job."

Merle stepped in front of him, holding up his hands.  "Now, don't be hasty about this, Davenport," he said.  "You die, and Golden Valley never gets the justice it deserves.  You've come so far, you're so close to your goal!  Definitely too far to turn back now."  He set his hand on Davenport's shoulder a second time, and leaned in close, his voice dropping to a soothing whisper.  "Remember the sight of all your dead on the battlefield?  Remember them bleeding out in the dust because Commander Burton held them in contempt?  Remember the rage you felt?"

Davenport's breath quickened.  The air tasted acrid, like ashes.  He shuddered.

And Davenport who stood with him, a part of this but not really, saw what the Red Falcon did not:  silvery threads of magic curling from Merle's lips into the Falcon's ears.  Tugging carefully at his emotions, pushing down his grief and his fear and even the warm nostalgia he felt for his warren and his family, till there was nothing left but a burning, all-consuming rage. 

The Red Falcon stared, wide-eyed, seeing nothing but a field of corpses.  Those he would avenge, and those he would make.  His fists clenched, and his whole body shook.

"The only justice there'll be is the justice of ashes," Merle murmured.  "The only peace you'll find is the peace of dust.  Burn it all down, and make them pay.  Ash and dust, dust and ashes…"

The Red Falcon's lips moved, silently echoing the words.  The path was so clear now.  It burned inside him like an inferno, pounded at the inside of his skull like a beast trying to get out.  "I'm going to kill them," he growled.  "I'm going to kill them all…"

The Dark Owl smiled.


	29. Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merle fulfills a promise. Davenport gets it all on paper. Lup asks a tough question.

Quillbird's spell broke through the final barrier, and the last burning ribbons of enchantment vanished.  The Red Falcon wailed.  The sound unfurld like a wing, filling the cavern.  A shocked silence followed it.  Davenport let go of the tether port and the Falcon stumbled forward, landed hard on his knees, and fell gasping to the floor.  Davenport's legs gave out and he fell too, but Magnus caught him before he could hit the ground. 

He shuddered, pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.  Four years of magically-suppressed grief and sorrow and horror had just flooded through his brain, and all he wanted to do right now was crawl into his bed on the Starblaster and sob for a week.

But there was still work to be done.

The Falcon groaned.  The bond engine still rotated slowly behind his back.  He lifted his head and stared, blinking, around the cavern.  At the IPRE crew, at the Raptors, at the remainder of his gang who'd been rounded up by the Brigade.  All of them stood staring back at him, shocked or confused by what they had just seen and heard. 

"What…what just happened?" he asked.  His voice was raw and quiet.  He pushed himself back up to his knees. 

Quillbird sagged against Lucretia and the Condor.  "Call to Ashes," she said.  "It's a powerful enchantment that warps people's minds.  Dark Owl's been casting it on you for years, using it to control you."  She turned a venomous glare at the dwarf.

"…What?"  The Falcon blinked, stunned. 

The Dark Owl had been trying to slip away.  The Condor and Lup both moved to block his exit; the rest of the circle tightened, hemming him in.

"Quillbird, you knew about this?" asked the Vulture.  He stared at the Falcon, ashen-faced.  "How long…?"

Her mouth pressed in a firm line.  "I had my suspicions.  But I wasn't absolutely sure until I saw the Owl casting it on the other Davenport for weeks.  Using it to encourage his despair and compliance."

"What?!" Magnus roared.  "That spell was on Cap'nport, too?"

Davenport sat up as if he'd been stung.  All those times the Dark Owl had spent time in his cell, talking to him, _manipulating_ him night after night.  How awful he'd always felt afterwards, unable to pull himself free of his own darkest doubts.  The encroaching hopelessness and numbness he couldn't shake.  The Dark Owl muttering under his breath on that last day in the lab, when the Falcon had shown off his modified fear engine, and Davenport had choked on the taste of ashes as his mind finally folded in on itself…

Magnus wrapped Davenport in a crushing hug from behind.  "Cap'nport, I am _so sorry_ you had to go through that, and we weren't here to protect you!"     

He patted Magnus's hand automatically, wanting to assure him that he was okay now.  Quillbird had saved him.  She'd broken the enchantment with what he now recognized as a weaker version of what she'd just cast on the Falcon.  Davenport had been her test run for the counterspell.

The Falcon still seemed unable to process all of this.  "I…what?"  He stared, wide-eyed, at the steel talons encasing his hands.  Davenport saw growing horror creep across his expression.  The Falcon turned to the Owl.  "You…made me do all this?"

The Owl shook his head.  "Now don't go blaming all this on me," he said.  "That's not how Call to Ashes works.  It can't make anybody do anything they didn't already want to do."  He extended a hand towards the Falcon.  "You _wanted_ revenge.  You _wanted_ to kill the people who hurt you.  Just like he," and he pointed to Davenport, " _wanted_ to give up on himself.  All I did was give you a little nudge here and there."

The accusation struck Davenport like a blow.  He felt Magnus's posture change, felt the shocked gaze of all his crew on him.  Lucretia looked devastated.  Lup looked, oddly, unsurprised.  Merle sighed.

"Cap'nport?"  Magnus's voice was so small.  "That's not… _true,_ is it?"

"That's _not_ what I wanted, Merle!"  The Falcon's voice sounded strained, as if he were strangling on his own words.  "Not…not like this!  I never wanted this!"

Davenport closed his eyes.  _You and me both._

"Of course you wanted it.  Otherwise, it wouldn't have worked."

The Falcon was staring at the Owl in open horror.  "Holy shit, I can't believe--why would you even do this?!  I—I _trusted_ you, Merle!  And you convinced me to…oh my _gods._ "  The Falcon was hyperventilating now, his whole body shaking. 

The Owl glowered.  For the first time since Davenport had met him, he looked truly angry.  "You wanna know why?!" he snapped.  "Because I was tired of listening to you whine all the time and not _do_ anything!  I finally found a Harvester worthy of the name, but the moment you left the battlefield, you lost your nerve!  And whenever you finally did kill someone, I'd have to spend the next three days listening to you cry about it!  'Oh, I shouldn't have done that!'  'Oh, my family would be so ashamed of me!'  'Oh, what did that person ever do to me?'  And on and on!"  He rolled his eyes.  "You knew what you wanted but you were too much of a coward to take it!  So I _had_ to give you a push!  And you know what?  You know what I thought, when you finally snapped and took out my eye?"

The Falcon's jaw dropped.  "You--what?"

"I was relieved!"  The Owl threw his hands up in the air like an exasperated parent.  "I thought, 'Finally, I can stop hand-holding this guy!  Finally he's taking some gods-damned _initiative!'_   And it worked!  You wanted vengeance on the Brigade, and I _delivered_ like your fairy fucking godfather.  When I found you, you were nothing but a broken soldier with a temper problem and an axe to grind.  And now look at you!"  He spread his hands wide and beamed.  "You're the greatest Harvester this desert has seen in three generations!  Hell, I lost track of your body count two years ago!"

The Falcon screamed.  He launched himself at the Owl and shoved him against the cavern wall, one talon digging into his shoulder and the other clamped around the top of his head.  "Maybe I should add one more to my body count!" he shrieked. 

The Owl glared at him.  "Might as well," he said.  "At least then I'll know I've made an impact."

The Falcon sucked in deep, gasping breaths.  He stared at the Owl for a long, dread moment. 

His shoulders slumped, and his grip loosened.  He hung his head and stepped back.

The Owl snorted.  "Figures," he said.  "The moment I stop helping you, you lose your nerve."

The Falcon sank to his knees.  His whole body sagged with exhaustion.

The Owl looked at the gathered Raptors and the IPRE crew, and shrugged once more.  "Well, seeing as you're all out of juice…"  He waved a hand, and coils of black magic snapped towards Quillbird, covering her mouth.  She staggered back, eyes widening.  "Time to start all over again."  And threads of smokey gray and bright orange magic spooled from his mouth, snaking towards the Falcon and towards all of them.  Clutching at their ankles, crawling up their legs, wafting towards their ears.  "There's no point to fighting anyway, might as well give up—"

A hammer of holy light, wielded by a giant Della Reese, smacked the Dark Owl away like a golf ball.  He slammed against the opposite wall of the cavern and slowly slid to the ground.

"Yeah, _fuck_ that guy," said Merle.  He turned to the remaining Raptors and extended his hands.  "I can be Merle enough for _both_ crews."

The Condor, the Vulture, and the Eagle all stared, gaping.  Quillbird blinked as the dark ribbon covering her mouth dissolved. 

The Fire Hawk grinned.  "Hell.  YES," she said, and ran to scoop up Merle in a big hug.  "Guys, guys, we are _so_ keeping this one!"

Merle grinned.  "Tell me," he said, "have you heard the good word of Pan?"

Davenport extricated himself from Magnus's protective hold and climbed unsteadily to his feet.  His head still reeled.  He crossed over to where the Falcon still knelt, unmoving, and sat next to him.  The Falcon didn't say anything.  He just stared bleakly ahead, lost in his own thoughts. 

Davenport reached over and flipped the switch that turned the bond engine off.  Slowly it came to a stop.  The Falcon sighed.

Quillbird sat down on his other side.  "Captain," she said.

The Falcon winced. 

Her mouth tightened.  "I'm sorry it took me so long to find a way to save you," she said. 

The Falcon shook his head.  "You shouldn't have bothered," he said.  "He was right, you know.  I did…want this."  He stared down at the talons in his lap.  His hands were visible on their undersides, small and scarred and pale against the dark metal that encased them.

"We all have dark temptations," said Quillbird.  "You had a right to be angry, to want some form of justice for what happened.  It wasn't your fault that the Dark Owl enchanted you—"

"I was still the one who _did_ everything," he said.  "It was _my_ anger he turned into a weapon.  It was _my_ wrath that burned and killed and tried to destroy everything."  He closed his eyes.  "I don't deserve your forgiveness or your mercy at this point.  Just turn me over to the Brigade and let them execute me, and this…"  He waved a hand, taking in the whole cavern.  "…it'll all be over.  The world will be better for it."

Davenport frowned.  He had so much he wanted to say to the Falcon, and he couldn't.  He was mute and out of spell slots, which was so godsdamned frustrating right now that he wondered if he wasn't still feeling some lingering part of the Falcon's rage.  Or maybe it was his own rage, loosed from that place in the bottom of his gut where he'd always kept it tightly bottled.

He heard a sigh behind him.  Lieutenant Commander Terra pinched the bridge of her nose.  "It's not that simple," she said.  She gestured over to the other side of the cavern, where several brigadeers were arresting an unconscious Dark Owl.  "The fact that your crimes were committed while you were under the influence of a powerful enchantment does…alter the situation a great deal.  We'll need time to sort everything out--"

"No, _no."_   The Falcon was on his feet now, unbuckling the power suit and letting it clatter to the ground around him.  "You can't let me get away with this!  Lieutenant Commander, you need to end this right now.  It's the only just solution."  He reached out to Terra, eyes wide and desperate.  _"Please."_

Quillbird rose to her feet.  "Captain--"

"I'm not a captain anymore!" he snapped.  Quillbird recoiled, but the flash of anger in his eyes was gone almost instantly.  He shook his head, sighing.  "Gods, Quillbird, I'm just…I'm _tired._ I'm so fucking tired.  I just want it to be over."

"Wait."  It was the Condor, Lieutenant Burnsides, who spoke up.  He crossed the circle and put one broad hand on the Falcon's shoulder.  The Falcon winced, but he didn't pull away.  "Listen, I know what you're doing.  You want to end it all because you don't want to deal with what's happened.  You don't think you can carry this weight."  He frowned.  "I know, because I've been there."

The Falcon wouldn't meet his eyes.  He tried to pull away then, but the Condor's grip was strong in death.

"You can't run away from this," he said.  "You can't undo what you've done.  But you of all people have a responsibility to help fix what's been broken.  To try to undo some of the damage.  You can't do that if you're dead."  He blinked, and added, "Well, I mean _really_ dead.  But you get what I mean."

Davenport cleared his throat.  When he had the others' attention, he rubbed his belly, pointed to the sky.

The Falcon narrowed his eyes.  "Um, you're--you're hungry?  Shit, you probably are, I've been starving you…Gods, I'm so sorry about that, too…"

"Wait, the Hunger?  You mean the Hunger?" Quillbird offered.

Davenport nodded.  Quillbird pulled out one of her ubiquitous journals and handed it to him, along with a stub of charcoal.  He quickly wrote out a message, and showed it to the Falcon.

_Hunger coming.  We need everyone's help, including yours._

The Falcon stared at the page.  "You…want me to help fight the Hunger?"

_You still have family.  Sapphire Bay._

The Falcon recoiled, as if the message had burned him.  "I--you know I can't face them!" he said.  "Not after what I've done."

_You can still do something for them._

He frowned.  "It won't be enough," he said.  "Even if I did fight the Hunger, it…it won't be enough.  A whole lifetime wouldn't be enough to balance this scale."

 _Cross that bridge after the apocalypse.  Let the world decide then if it demands more penance from you.  _He turned to Terra, tilted her head towards the Falcon.

She rubbed her chin, sighing.  "Well, there is a lot of work to be done if we want to shore up our defenses against the Hunger's onslaught.  We could use the skills of a gifted engineer.  The Lieutenant is right.  If you live, you have a chance to make this world better.  Death doesn't give you that option."  She glanced at the dead, crumpled body of Commander Burton, and her mouth tightened.  Davenport could read the look in her eyes well enough.  Burton was one person who wouldn't get the chance to make up for the damage he'd done.

Davenport scrawled a message to her.  He wrote it in a firm, strong hand, and showed it to her with a decisive and meaningful look.  She was Commander now, and though it wasn't fair to thrust on her the responsibility for fixing someone else's mistakes, someone had to do it and it was her job now.

_Fix the Brigade.  Golden Valley deserves justice and reparations._

She looked at the message, and nodded soberly.  "It will be done," she said.  "Red Falcon, what do you say?  Will you come with me peacefully, so we can discuss the terms of your rehabilitation?"

The Falcon's jaw was tight, and his cheeks were wet with tears.  He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand and nodded.  "O-okay," he said, letting out a shaky breath.  "Okay, I'll do it."

Quillbird extended a hand.  He hesitated, then slipped his shaking hand in hers. 

Davenport clapped a hand on his shoulder.  They were both so tired and shaken and full of sorrow, and there was so much work to be done.

But neither of them were alone anymore.

 

#

           

When the sun was just creeping up over the horizon and the whole crew returned, at last, to the Starblaster, they threw the biggest party any of them could remember in the past several cycles.  Davenport took a long hot bath, dressed himself in a clean, crisp uniform and brushed his hair properly for the first time in almost two months.  When he stepped out into the common room, the whole place was transformed.  A huge banner said WELCOME BACK CAPN with the "port" squeezed in tiny letters at the end.  Seemingly every surface glittered, jazzed up by some magic or other.  Balloons and flowers were everywhere. 

And the crew had jury-rigged a present for him:  the small book-sized chalkboard that had hung in the kitchen to announce whose turn it was to do the dishes had been attached to a belt clip, a reel, and a piece of chalk on a string, so Davenport could carry it around and write messages.  The entire crew had decorated the wooden frame:  flame decals from Lup, sprays of glitter from Taako, a smiling stick-figure dog from Magnus; painted stars from Lucretia; dried flowers from Merle; and a glasses-wearing smiley face from Barry.

The first message he wrote was _Thank you.  I'm so proud of all of you._

The second message, delivered with a snarky grin, was _Now whose turn is it to do the dishes??_

Once the party got started properly, he opened up his personal wine stash and spread the wealth while Taako figured out how to turn his favorite flavors into something he could eat.  The result was a sort of spicy seafood and rice porridge, which Davenport downed as if he hadn't eaten in weeks.  Then came a course of spiked ice cream shakes, with the crew taking turns trying to outdo each other with weird mixer combinations or elaborate toppings or both. 

Someone (he thought Barry, maybe) found his other secret stash of sea shanty records and blasted them at top volume, and Davenport was both oddly touched and rather impressed that the crew fumbled their way through the choruses despite their increasingly inebriated state.  He was pampered and fussed over, and he made sure he gave every crew member a long, unabashed hug and a forehead bump, which Lucretia alone seemed to know the meaning of.  Probably because she'd read it in a book somewhere.  At any rate, she seemed both surprised and touched by the gesture, and mumbled a shy thanks.

Halfway through the party, when Magnus had caught him up in yet another bear hug, a strange thin light caught Davenport's eye.  He blinked, but the light vanished before he could focus on it.

By mid-morning, most of the crew had dropped off into a slumber, lying next to and on top of each other in the common room.  It had been a long night, and Davenport was surprised to find himself the last one still awake, nerves still wired and thoughts going a mile a minute.

He looked out over the common room, at his peacefully sleeping crew.  His friends.  Yes, he could say that now:  these were his _friends_.  Maybe not his warren, maybe not yet his family—that grief was still too raw and unbearable to touch, even after 18 cycles—but maybe one day.

The soft, thin light caught his eye again.  He tried to focus on it, and it faded from view.  Trying a different tactic, he leaned back in his chair and let his eyes unfocus.  Just gently taking in the immensely satisfying sight of his friends all together and safe and whole and with him.

The light came into view.  It was a soft thread of bond energy, connecting him to Magnus.  Another connected him to Lucretia, and another to Merle and to Lup and the more he saw, the more came into view.  Threads of white light were everywhere, binding his crew to him and to each other. 

He rubbed his eyes and the threads vanished.  He let his eyes unfocus, and they appeared again.

Huh.

Was this some sort of side-effect left over from being a living conduit for an indescribable amount of bond energy?  He waved his hands and they passed through the threads without effect.  He focused his attention on one, a Magnus thread, and found himself struck by the memory of the first time they'd met. 

He'd been looking over the candidate folder with _Burnsides, Magnus_ written on it.  And he looked up at the tall, broad, eager-looking human, and had felt the same pang of nervousness he'd felt when interviewing all the potential security officers.  People of all races who looked like they could break him in half if he looked at them the wrong way.  And here was this human, definitely in the upper quadrant in terms of size and sheer muscle mass, and Davenport had pasted on his professional mask and introduced himself.

And Magnus had said, "Can I call you Cap'nport?"

Davenport stared at the human, who was utterly sincere and probably just as ignorant of gnomish nickname culture.  This human had just met him and yet was already extending a friendly nickname like a care package from home, something none of his colleagues had ever done in his years at the Institute.  He stared at the folder in his hands, and made several mental checkmarks beside the name _Burnsides, Magnus_ because this was the first potential security officer who made him feel _safe_.

Davenport blinked, pulling himself out of the memory.  He tried others, and found more of the same warm memories.  That first time Lup had drawn him out into a Group Spa Day, coaxing him out of his mental armor; and the time Lucretia slipped out of a loud crew party onto the quiet deck and found him stargazing, and they had chatted amiably over a glass of wine.  Stories and card games shared around a campfire with Merle, who had finally managed to coax a smile and a laugh out of him, the first he'd allowed himself to have on this grim journey. 

And there was that time on Cycle 7 when a sudden explosion had left Davenport missing his left leg, arm, and eye, and he had finally admitted he needed to show someone else how to fly the ship, and he picked intelligent and responsible Barry.  And after putting up with multiple lessons from a sullen Davenport, who was frustrated and angry and with no good target to take it out on, Barry had gently spoken to him, telling him that it was okay if he needed to ask for assistance, and the crew thought no less of him for it.  That same cycle, Taako had quietly been making all of Davenport's favorite foods and he hadn't even _noticed_ until Barry brought it up off-hand.  So he had Barry carry him into the kitchen, where he apologized to Taako for his ungrateful behavior and thanked him properly.  Taako didn't smile, but his face softened slightly and he shrugged and said it was no biggie.  And Davenport realized that was huge for Taako and had never felt so forgiven in his life.

 _I never told them any of this_ , he realized.  _I never told any of them how much these moments have meant to me, how much_ they've _meant to me._

He slipped off the couch and found a writing pad and a spare quill.  He got comfortable on the far side of the common room, in his spare armchair, where he could see them all at once.  And he wrote them all letters. 

In retrospect, he realized that getting all his sloppy feelings out on paper while he was more than a little tipsy was probably not the best idea.  Or maybe it was the only time he _could_ , when alcohol and warm camaraderie after weeks of separation and loneliness had loosened the tight grip he kept on his heart.  Being blasted with pure bond energy probably hadn't hurt, either.

He could always revise his spelling errors in the morning.

Lup leaned down over the back of the air when he was halfway through his letter to Barry.  He hadn't noticed her getting up.  She gestured silently and he nodded, so she began to give him a shoulder rub.  He leaned into the contact.

"Jeezy-creezy, Cap," she said, her voice low and quiet, "we really are gonna have to stuff you to get you back up to weight."

He snorted.

"So, Taako and Barry and I were thinking…That grunting language from the first cycle uses almost no tongue sounds, so we could teach it to you and you'd at least be able to speak to half of us.  Whaddaya think?"

He smiled, and gave her a thumbs up.  The chalkboard was fine and all for short messages, but his hands were already getting cramped from all the writing.  He might need to go to Lucretia for some tips on keeping his wrists and fingers limber.

"Rad," she said.  She was quiet for a moment more, and then her hands stopped.  "Cap," she said, still very quietly, "I wanna ask you a yes-or-no question.  And I want an honest answer, okay?"

He glanced up at her, struck by the seriousness of her tone.  He nodded.

She took a deep breath and let it out.  "Are you done martyring yourself over the whole robot-crystal thing?"

It took him a moment to process what she was asking.  He sat up in his chair, stung.

"And don't pretend that isn't what you did," she said.  "If you'd given us half a chance, we could've come up with a better plan than the whole self-maiming and permanent hostage thing.  But you were way too quick to throw yourself on that sword, and I think I know why."

Davenport's grip tightened on his knees.  He hadn't—had he?

Shit.  She was right.

He closed his eyes, took a deep steadying breath.  Gods, he'd done the same thing the Falcon had tried to do.  Tried to take his anger and frustration out on the wrong target, and then when he realized it was wrong, he'd turned that anger on himself instead.  Offered himself as the sacrifice for the chopping block.  Because he didn't think he deserved forgiveness, even after it had been offered to him.

He swallowed around the hard lump in his throat.  He pulled out the slate tablet and wrote, _I'm sorry.  I was stupid._

"Yeah, we already established that," said Lup.  "And I hope we've also established that we love you anyway.  So, yes or no.  Are you done?"

He turned to look directly at her, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.  He nodded.

Lup smiled.  "Good.  Now finish up your love letters and come join us in the cuddle pile."  She returned the squeeze with a quick hug, and went to go nestle herself between Taako and Lucretia.

He stayed up quite a while, letting his quill move across the pages, glancing at threads of white light and remembering if he got stuck.  It was almost noon when he finally slipped the pad away with its finished letters and pressed himself into the warm cuddle pile of sleeping crew.  He tucked himself against Magnus's side, with his feet against Barry's soft belly and Taako's arms draped over his knees and Merle's earthy scent in his nostrils.  He closed his eyes, pressed himself into the warmth, and wept quietly.  And if more than a few arms curled around him protectively, well…he didn't pull away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, we're just about done! The next chapter will be a wrap-up to tie up some loose ends, and then the last chapter will be a very short epilogue. Also, I am leaving for a week on vacation today, and even though I'll have my laptop with me, I'm not sure what my internet connectivity or schedule will be like, so my updates may be *slightly* delayed. But there's no more cliffhangers so hopefully you won't mind a couple days' extra wait ^.^;


	30. Illumination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davenport suggests an upgrade. Lucretia hangs out. Lup lays down her judgment. Merle evangelizes. Taako defends his brand. Magnus makes a promise. Barry adds a new color to his jeans.

Davenport arrived at Commander Terra's office, and was only mildly surprised to find the Falcon sitting there waiting for him.  He was actually more surprised to see the Falcon clean and well-groomed.  He was pressed back into a chair that was clearly sized for Big Folk, and kept his eyes on a stiffened leather map tube laid across his knees.  A small steel bracer poked out from beneath one sleeve, a magical tracker that the Brigade used to keep an eye on parolees.

Terra offered him a smile.  "Captain Davenport, thank you for coming.  I trust the repairs to your ship's engine are going well?"

He nodded.  Barring any unforeseen complications, he and his crew would have no difficulty escaping with the Light.  All that remained was to prepare this world as best they could for the Hunger's onslaught.

"Excellent," she said.  "Well, down to business.  It was the Falcon who actually wished to speak to you."  She gestured him to continue.

He blushed, and cleared his throat.

Davenport tilted his head to Terra, who nodded in understanding and slipped out of the office, leaving the two of them alone. 

"Um.  Well."  The Falcon still wouldn't meet his eyes.  "I guess I should start with, I'm sorry.  For everything.  But I mean, more specifically…what I did to you and your crew."  His fingers tapped an agitated staccato on the tube.  "And even after everything I did, you still…saved me.  For what, I don't know.  But I'm here.  Again.  Because of you.  So I guess I should at least do _something_ , since I've been given a second chance I'm still trying to wrap my fucking head around, and shit, I'm rambling, aren't I?"  He rubbed his face.  "Sorry about that too."

Davenport gestured to the tube, figuring the Falcon would have an easier time if he had something to focus on.  After four years under the influence of Call to Ashes, clearly he was still having trouble keeping his thoughts from spiraling down into dark dead ends.

"Oh, right."  He held up the tube.  "So I've been working with the Commander about ways to repair and strengthen the walls around Confluence, and add supports to the underground bunkers to make sure they can withstand the Hunger's onslaught.  Don't want a tunnel collapsing at a weak point.  And I got to thinking, well, when the Hunger does show up…I don't want to hide underground with everyone else.  I want to fight it.  To do what I can to protect the entry points.  There's, ah, a chance I might not survive."

Davenport looked up in alarm. 

The Falcon raised his hands.  "No, I know what you're thinking.  I'm not gonna go looking for my own death.  But I do want to make plans just in case, because it's a possibility.  And I thought about ways I might continue to give back to this world even after I'm gone.  Because a year of building walls and a fight on the front lines doesn't seem like…enough, you know?"  His brow furrowed.  He pulled the end cap off the tube and unrolled across the desk a set of blueprints which Davenport realized that he recognized.

Of course he recognized them.  He had seen them through the Falcon's eyes.  Blueprints for a train.

The Falcon's cheeks were red.  "So maybe this is selfish of me," he said.  "But it's all I have to offer Farcry.  And I really—um, I really think it'll be an improvement.  It'll connect scattered communities, and support trade and growth, and allow people to…see each other."  He cleared his throat.  "Anyway, I wanted to get your opinion.  Do you, ah, think it's a good idea?"

Davenport looked over the blueprints.  It was a solid design, with some novel ideas for boosting the engine power and handling the brake system.  The exterior was utilitarian, but the interiors contained homey, warren-like touches that brought a smile to his face and a pang of nostalgia to his heart.

He pulled out his writing tablet.  _Not bad_ , he wrote.  _What if you added a bond engine?_

"What?"  He looked at the blueprints and at Davenport's face.  "I mean…I suppose it could be done, but…"  A short, nervous laugh stuttered from his throat.  "You really wouldn't want to, you know…build another bond engine with me, seriously?"

_We could do it right this time._

"Holy shit.  You're serious, aren't you?"

 _2nd chance.  Make it count._   What Davenport didn't add was a small but growing belief that it might be good for both of them.

"Well…I mean, if you're sure…"  He rubbed his chin and looked over the blueprints.  "Should be much easier this time, since I can—"  He glanced at Davenport.  "Hey, I gotta ask…Have you been, um, seeing things since Quillbird's counterspell?"

 _Bond threads?  Yes._   He wasn't sure if it was a physical or metaphysical side-effect; if the former, there was a chance it would go away at the reset.  He might as well spend his time now learning as much as he could about these threads.

The Falcon rubbed his face again.  "So it's not just me.  That's good, I thought I was going crazy.  Again."  He chuckled morbidly.  He rolled up the blueprints and slipped them with care back into the tube, handling them as if they were a fragile and precious thing he was terrified of losing.  Davenport politely pretended not to notice the Falcon wiping a few stray tears on his sleeve.

"Gods, there's no way I'm ever gonna be able to pay you back for all this, am I?"

Davenport shrugged.  _So pay it forward instead._

 

#

 

Lucretia sat under the awning of a coffee shop.  The morning air was crisp and clean, and the people of Confluence formed a steady stream of noise and color on the streets.  She sipped her coffee and enjoyed the view.  The city's spirits were much lifted, now that the scourge of the Raptors was gone. 

"Soooo?" asked Holly, who sat across from her.  "How did it go?"  She picked up a tea cookie from the platter between them.

"It was weird," Lucretia admitted.  "Weird, but nice?"  She glanced over at Quillbird, who nodded.

The night before, Quillbird had taken Lucretia to her parents' home for dinner.  She'd explained the whole twin-from-another-dimension thing, and they'd extended an invitation to Lucretia to meet them.  Ostensibly, it was to offer their thanks for helping save their daughter.  But they'd fussed over her almost as much as they did over their actual daughter, and Lucretia suspected they were unofficially welcoming her into the family, since she'd lost her own.

There'd still been a distance between them.  Quillbird's parents were like hers in many ways, but different in many others.  Her father laughed at different jokes.  Her mother's smile was sharper, more wry.  And she suspected they understood that she was not really their daughter.  She felt like a well-loved guest in their home, not a stranger but not quite family, either.  Which was…weird.  But not unpleasant.

"I think it went about as well as it could," said Quillbird.  "They did say you're welcome back at any time, and…well."  She smiled.  "You know they don't just say that to anybody."

Lucretia nodded.  That was one thing both their parents had in common.  "And what about you, Holly?" she asked.  "I mean…is this too weird for you?  I don't need to come if you want time catching up with Quillbird.  I mean, I did trick you—"

Holly cut her off with a roar of halfling laughter and a wave of her hand.  "Are you kidding?" she asked.  "Now I get to hang out with two of my best friend!  I mean, how lucky am I?"

"Damn lucky," Quillbird deadpanned.  "And don't you forget it."

Holly reached over the table and took Lucretia's hand.  "Hey.  Hey you.  I am so, so grateful you came to our world.  Maybe not about the whole Hunger thing, but you helped save my Creesh from an awful situation.  I don't know how much longer it would have taken for her to get out, or if she even would've been able to, if she'd been stuck on her own.  So, thank you for that."  She gave Lucretia's hand a squeeze.  "I mean that."

Lucretia blushed.  "Creesh?" she asked, staring wide-eyed at Quillbird.  "That's your nickname?"

Quillbird shrugged.  "Holly's idea.  It kinda stuck."

Lucretia smiled.  "I kinda dig it.  Creesh.  Rolls right off the tongue."

"Maybe I should tattoo it on my other arm.  In big fancy letters."  She rolled up her sleeve and took them both to the gun show.  Holly nearly snorted tea out of her nose.

She caught sight of Merle passing by, lugging a small guitar case.  She waved, and he waved back, beaming.

At next Midsummer, she'd have to say good-bye to both Quillbird and Holly.  Even if they both survived the Hunger's onslaught, she'd likely never see them again.  Unless some wizard invented a convenient artifact that allowed for controlled trans-dimensional travel besides the bond engine, this was all the time she had with them.

Merle would have told her to enjoy the time she had.  To make the most of it, to choose joy over despair.

So she rolled up her own sleeves.  "It's Ladies Night at the gun show," she said with a grin, flexing.  "Man, if the reset didn't take away any changes to my body, I'd ask you to give me a bitchin' tattoo.  A badass sleeve commemorating our epic joint take-down of the most dangerous gang of Farcry."

Holly raised an eyebrow.  "Sounds to me like that weird reset is just permission to go wild.  Whaddaya say, Creesh?"

Quillbird met Lucretia's eyes.  "Baller," they both said, and smiled.

 

#

 

Taako found the Golden Eagle exactly where he expected:  chilling at a corner table in Marlyn's best tavern, being all dark and edgy in the fuckin' corner like the self-important asshole he was.  The upside of the Raptors' identities being concealed for so long was that it was real easy for them to slip back into the general population.  They were still under the watchful gaze of the Border Brigade, still had those little trackers on them.  But as long as they stayed on the good side of the law now, all helping the Brigade in its anti-Hunger prep and attending Merle's little therapy sessions and making a halfway decent show of atoning for their crimes, Terra was giving them a shot at being normal citizens again.

It made sense for Quillbird, who had only done her Raptor shtick under duress.  Same with the Condor.  It made sense for the Falcon, too, who had his head back on straight now and was willing (desperate, really) to do whatever it took to try to make up for what he did when he was possessed.  Lup 2 was cool, and the Vulture was soaking up Merle's hippy philosophy like a sponge.

(Dark Owl was in prison, and good fuckin' riddance.  Nobody missed that guy.)

And then there was this asshole.  The Golden Eagle.  Taako was having none of it.  He had a brand to protect, and Lup 2 deserved better.

He sat down at the table's other chair without waiting for an invite. 

The Eagle raised an eyebrow.  "Table's taken, homie," he drawled.  "Get your own."

"'Fraid not," he said.  "This is Taako's table, and I'm Taako.  Ergo."

The Eagle sighed dramatically.  "Fine.  Fuckin' whatever.  What's this all about?"

Taako lounged in his chair.  "Oh you know.  The fact that you're an asshole and I've got a reputation to uphold.  See, I've got this whole jerk-with-a-heart-of-gold thing going on, and you're just straight up jerk-with-a-heart-of-jerk."

"Different world, homie," said the Eagle, examining his painted fingernails.  "Your fuckin' softboi life on your little love-powered friend ship ain't got nuthin' to do with me."

"First off, fighting the Hunger to save, uh, all of reality ain't a softboi lifestyle, last time I checked," said Taako.  "And second of all, you can tell yourself you've become all fuckin' badass to survive in this crapsack world of yours, but I bet you your sister's problems wouldn't have been half as bad if you hadn't turned your back on her the moment she got a boyfriend you didn't like.  What about that?  What about that thing I just said?"

The Eagle looked like he was about to spit.  "You lookin' for a fight?"

Taako cracked his knuckles.  "You hurt my family and never apologized, you've been a dick even after your sis called a truce, and maybe I can't stand you messing up my brand in the worst way.  So yeah, uh, you can say I'm lookin' for a fight.  Mano a mano.  One epic throwdown to decide, once and for all, who wears this face better."

The Eagle cracked his own knuckles.  "Okay, thug, let's bring it."

 

#

 

"All right," said Lieutenant Burnsides, "hoist that up there and brace it against the last one."

The rope and pully system began hoisting the thick wooden beam up towards the scaffolding that had been built around the blast hole in Confluence's city wall. 

IPRE Magnus ducked to avoid getting knocked in the head as it swung past.  His double ducked, too.  Technically it wouldn't hurt him, but it would certainly raise a lot of questions if he took a massive blow to the head and didn't flinch.

Not that anyone questioned Lieutenant Burnsides' twin brother who mysteriously showed up out of nowhere to visit a man who'd shockingly been found alive after being presumed dead for years.

"So," said Magnus, glancing at the Lieutenant, "have you thought about what we talked about?  You know, with the whole…you know."

Lieutenant Burnsides sighed.  "Yeah, I've thought about it.  Honestly, I haven't stopped thinking about it since I was de-thralled."  He looked up at the wall.  Its cracks had been mortared and several thick beams were bracing it in place as new stone was prepared.  "I just…my family's gone.  It's hard to imagine what my life can look like without them."  He shook his head ruefully.  "I mean, that's why I tried looking for a hero's death in the first place.  I just…had nowhere else to go."

"But there's so much here to do!" said Magnus.  "So many things to do, so many people to help.  It's like…I know I get attached to the little things, but if there's anything I've learned on my mission,  it's that sometimes you have to think big-picture.  There's a whole world that needs protecting!"

Burnsides' eyes widened.  "Honestly, that sounds pretty overwhelming."

"Well, I mean…you take it in chunks.  Balance it with spending time with friends, petting puppies, working out."

"Aim for the big things, but remember the little things, to keep it in perspective?"

"Yeah!  Just like that."

Burnsides gave a sweeping glance at the wall, and at the workers who moved like ants in its shadow.  He picked up a water skin from where some had been set aside in a shaded area for the workers.  He handed it to a particularly red-faced woman as she ran by with a bulky box of tools.  She smiled gratefully and paused to catch her breath and drink before continuing.

"See?  Just like that!" said Magnus.  "There's lots to keep living for."

Burnsides regarded Magnus.  "What about you?  What do you wanna do when your mission to save all of reality is over with?"

Magnus laughed.  "Honestly, I've thought about it a lot, and I think I kinda wanna open a school for dogs.  Train 'em to help people."

Burnsides raised both eyebrows.  "I do love dogs…" he said.

"See?  You can do the same, if you want!  We can be dog-training-school buddies!  I even have a name for it…'Magnus Burnsides Presents A Dog's Tail'!"

Burnsides laughed.  "I woulda gone for 'Animal PROficiency' myself.  But with a name like that, I might just go for 'A Dog's Tail, Too.'  Like, 2 as in a sequel?"

"And if anyone asks what it's a sequel to—"

"I'd just shrug and say, 'Oh, you know!'"

Both of them laughed, loud and uproariously, clapping each other on the shoulder.  Magnus wiped tears from his eyes, glad that he finally had a double who was just as cool as he was. 

He hoped his other him would stick around. 

The Lieutenant had taken some convincing, after everything went down.  He was convinced he was living on borrowed time.  He'd stick around to fight the Hunger and then let Barry undo whatever necromancy was keeping him around, so he could finally have a proper death.  But the Starblaster still had a nice stash of wealth from the time they'd been on that plane where precious gems were used as currency (people just threw diamonds around like other people used gold coins!  It was _wild_ ), and it was no biggie to pay for Burnsides to get a full resurrection at a local temple. 

Burnsides sighed as the laughter died down.  "I still feel weird having you pay for it," he said.  "I mean, are you sure you don't need the money?"

"Naaah, go nuts!" said Magnus.  "Every new world has a different currency anyway.  We keep some of what we get, just in case, but it's always kind of a crapshoot if it'll ever be useful.  But we all agree, this is a good use of our funds." 

"Okay, okay," said Burnsides.  "Tell you what.  I'll stick around like I am until after the Hunger.  I think I'll do a better job fighting it anyway if I'm…like this, and at least I wouldn't have to die twice.  And then, when it's all over, I'll go to the temple and have them take care of me.  I'll stick around and see what I can do.  I mean, if anything, there's going to be a lot of rebuilding to be done around here."

"See?  That's a great idea!"

"But you have to promise me something, too."  Burnsides clapped both his hands on Magnus's shoulders. 

"Yeah, bud?  Just ask."

"If you ever get a chance to punch the Hunger in the face—assuming it ever has a singular, punchable face—you take that shot, okay?"

Magnus smiled.  "Will do, buddy!"

 

#

 

Merle whistled as he walked down the streets of Confluence, dodging folks as they went about their business.  The sun was shining, he'd had a good session with the Dark Owl, and something very special was planned for tonight's group meeting with his little problem birds.  Lieutenants Magnus and Lucretia would also be in attendance for the occasion, though their attendance was usually sporadic, depending on their work with the Brigade.

He had, for form's sake, extended an invite to the Falcon.  (Dav, as they called him now, with their own Dav going by Cap, to make things a little easier.)  As usual, he had declined.  He never came to group session, and only met with Merle one-on-one for their long talks.  Merle respected his decision.  Dav had come to the reasonable conclusion that it was best for him not to try to force his presence on a crew he'd abused and tormented for years, brainwashed or not.

Still, he did accept an invitation to have dinner with the Starblaster crew next week, a move Merle insisted on, since Dav wasn't going to improve without getting out of the lab and having a little healthy socialization with people other than Cap & Terra.  It would be awkward, sure, but he sincerely believed that it would be good for the poor gnome. 

As for the Dark Owl…well.

He'd be in prison for life.  The Temple of the Ashen had defrocked him and formally distanced itself from his actions, though Merle suspected they were more angry at him for getting caught than about anything he'd actually done, and were just covering their asses.  He spent his days locked in a prison cell with a permanent one-way Zone of Silence and a dozen anti-magic wards cast around it, so he couldn't cast Call to Ashes (which had a necessary vocal component) or any other nasty spell. 

And Merle wasn't going to turn down the very best evangelizing opportunity.  So, twice a week, he went down to visit Dark Owl and told him about Pan and sang Pannite hymns on an old guitar he'd borrowed.  He wasn't that great a singer, he'd be the first to admit.  But the Dark Owl didn't complain.  Or if he did, Merle couldn't hear him.

_("Man, that is some wicked punishment," Lup had said when he'd explained._

_"Punishment?" he'd asked, dumbfounded.)_

He climbed up the stairs to the Starblaster, which was resting properly-aligned on the desert sands, its repaired engine in low power mode.  He thought he heard raised voices inside.  Curious, he slid open the door.

A wave of noise and cooking smells struck him with an almost physical force.

"Welcome to Taako's Kitchen Time Epic Throwdown!" said Lup into a microphone.  She was seated at a fold-out table, which had a banner hung across the front that read 'Judge's Table' in flaming red letters.  "I'm Lup and I'm here with my co-host and co-judge, also Lup."

"Yo!"

"And we're here to determine, through Epic Cook-Off, who is the best Taako."

Both Magnuses, Barries, and Lucretias applauded.

"Now, IPRE Taako is a strong contender," said Lup, "mixing interdimensional cooking skills with a super chill attitude." 

"Oh, but I wouldn't count my Taako out just yet," said Lup 2.  "He's got a healthy competitive streak and he won't settle for less than the best.  And he's promised not to try to kill my Barry anymore, even by accident.  Isn't that right?"

"Hey, I stand by that," said Taako 2.  "No more assassination attempts, no matter how tempting or untraceable."

"I, uh, appreciate that," said the Vulture.  "'Specially on a day like this."

"Yeah, hun, you are gonna get treated to the best food imaginable to celebrate your special day!"

Taako 2 frowned.  "What, is there somethin' goin' on today?  Your birthday or somethin' I didn't know about?  'Cause fuck if I'm baking you a cake."

"You didn't hear?" asked the Vulture.  "We're celebrating my conversion to Pan."  He grinned.  "I'm gonna be a cleric now!  I'm gonna heal people and, like, keep them alive the normal way."

"The fuck, Barold?"  He narrowed his eyes at Merle.  "What did you even do to make that happen, old man?"

"Oh, it was epic!" said Merle, taking a seat on the couch and clasping his hands over his belly.  "A beautiful and timeless story of redemption and found faith.  The eternal battle of light versus dark.  One for the ages!  Definitely something for Lucretia's chronicles, at least.  Let me tell you…"

 

#

 

"…But when you hurt other people, it upsets them.  Other people have feelings, too."

"But, uh, what if they're already dead and can't feel things?"

"Well, there's still emotional hurt.  Their loved ones would be upset because you're messing with someone they care about."

"Whoa, slow down.  I'm not sure I follow?"

"Well, think about how you felt when your Lup was injured."

"Uh, y-yeah…?"

"Well, that's how other people feel when you hurt their loved ones."

"…Oh.  Oh my gods.  _Whoa_."

"Uh-huh.  You get it now?"

"I think I need to sit down.  I think I need to…whoa."

Merle smiled.

 

#

 

"…and not only that, but I'll still get to push the bounds of medical science but it'll be to, like, help people.  Maybe even people who've been hurt the same way Lup was!"

Merle's face crinkled as he smiled.  "And I can get you started with some medicinal plant cuttings.  Never underestimate the power of medicinal plants!"

"This'll be great!"  The Vulture was practically bouncing in his seat.  "I'll have my own greenhouse and I can set up a clinic and everything!"

Lup 2 was beaming.  "That sounds totally rad, hon, and I fully support you."

"Guess I won't be the Vulture anymore, huh?  I'll need a different nickname.  How about…Barry Greenjeans?"

Barry Bluejeans nearly snorted lemonade out his nose.  Taako cackled, and both Lups winced.

"We'll workshop it, hon," said Lup 2. 

"Anyway, in honor of the occasion," said Lup, "the theme for today's challenge will be . . ."

"Pan-demonium!" they both cried in unison, adding flaming jazz hands for emphasis.

"That's right, anything you can do to be in theme will add points," said Lup 2.

"Points will also be tallied for taste, presentation, and that certain je-ne-sais-quo that we like to call the X-Factor."

Taako smirked.  "So like, if our dish was a plant, how likely is it that Merle will try to have sex with it?"

Greenjeans-nee-Vulture blanched.  "Uh, what?"

"Oh, you'll get to the plant sex in time, my friend."

Lup grimaced.  "Let's not scare off our newly converted buddy here, Taako."

Greenjeans stared at Merle.  "You have sex with plants?" he said, nearly choking on the words.

Merle shrugged.  "I love all of Pan's creatures!" he said expansively and enigmatically.  He didn't have sex with plants—not yet, at least—but somehow the rumor had gotten started, and he liked using it to make his younger crewmates squirm.  Especially Cap, whose 'I am extremely uncomfortable' grimace was priceless.

"I vote that we move on," said Lucretia, followed by Creesh's quick "Seconded!"

And thus the competition began.  Merle was used to the chummy and masterful pas de deux that the twins usually exhibited in the kitchen, bobbing and weaving around each other, always cognizant of where the other was.  But having two Taakos who openly disliked each other, working side by side in the ship's tiny kitchen, was something else.  They didn't sabotage each other—the Lups would've stopped them, and each wanted to succeed on his own merits—but there were not-so-accidental elbow jabs and toe crushes and plenty of 'Whoops, I didn't see you there's. 

In short, it was entertaining as hell.

He checked the clock on the wall.  Cap was still in the lab for another hour or so, but he should be back in time for the judging.  That'd be a nice end to his workday. 

Merle relaxed into the couch.  His little family had been through a helluva lot this cycle, some more than others, and it was only three months in.  And there was still plenty of head-butting; plenty of aching, lost hearts in need of healing and direction.  So much damage had been done to this world already.  So many lives had been lost that couldn't be brought back.

Still, maybe it was the optimist in him, but he was certain this world could not only heal but become a better place.  Already, most of the Raptors—now free of the Dark Owl's influence—were giving so much back to the world, and would keep giving more and more.

And besides, right now he had doubled the size of his family.  And he couldn't be anything other than happy about that.

 

#

 

"Dav!" came a sharp, high voice from the door of the lab.  "I can't believe you'd do this!"

IPRE Davenport looked up from where he'd been mulling over some blueprints.  Standing in the doorway was a gnome girl who couldn't have been more than 12 years old, fists planted on her hips and an angry expression on her face.  Her cheeks were flushed and her honey-gold hair was a mess, as if she'd run here specifically to burst in like this.

She saw him and stormed across the lab, holding up a flier.  "Four years and you don't answer a single letter, you don't visit even once!  And now you're building a train and you don't even ask me to come?"  She slammed the flier on the table and glared up at him.

It was an announcement that had been posted around town by the Brigade, asking for volunteers for various projects such as reinforcing the walls and tunnels of Confluence.  It also included a call for mechanics and laborers interested in helping build a train.  The actual construction wouldn't happen till after the Hunger had gone, but they'd wanted to at least start the search.

And here was this furious gnome girl he didn't even know, probably thinking he was the other Davenport.  "Um…"

"Is that all you have to say for yourself, Dav?"

"Rosa?"  The Falcon—Dav—stood in the doorway, pale and aghast, holding a tray of lemonade he'd just gone to fetch.  "What…what are you…"  He trailed off when she spun to face him.

She looked at him, and at the other Davenport.  "Oh wow," she said.  "Two Davs?!"

Cap smiled and stepped away, gesturing to Dav, signaling that that was the one she was looking for. 

Dav looked like he had been halfway about to bolt, but Rosa's renewed attention fixed his feet to the floor.  He swallowed.  "It's, uh, kind of a long story."  He set the tray down on a workbench.  "The one in red is me from another dimension—"

Rosa ran back across the lab and threw her arms around him.  And then she punched him in the arm.  "That's for never answering my letters!  I missed you, Dav!"  Her face scrunched up in mingled child-fury and sadness.  "It was really hard without you.  You promised—Dav, what happened to your _ears?_ "

He stumbled back like he'd been shot.  Slowly, as if he had to think hard about every move he was making, he detached Rosa's arms from his hips, and crouched down so he was at eye level with her.  "Rosa, I…"  He stopped, started again.  "I was at war for a very long time."  He brushed his fingers through his hair, as if trying to conceal the nubs of his ears.  "I promise I'll tell you the whole story.  Just…not today, all right?  I'm just happy to see you again."

Rosa nodded soberly.  "All right," she said. 

He stood.  "Now, does your mother know you're here?  You're a long way from Sapphire Bay."

"She said I could come!"  She picked up the flier and handed it to him.  "Because I'm gonna be your apprentice!"

He blinked.  "My apprentice?  Rosa, you're—you're too young for—"

"I am not!" she huffed, crossing her arms across her chest.  "Lotsa gnomes start apprenticing at 11.  And you promised!"

"I did?"

Cap wrote _You said maybe_ on his tablet.

"I said maybe," he echoed.

"It wasn't a no."  Rosa grinned, as if she had him exactly where she wanted him.

Dav looked at Cap, then at Rosa.  "All right," he said, "I tell you what.  We'll give it a few days—call it a trial run—and then, if you…if you still want to stay and be my apprentice, you can.  You saw the secretary at the front desk?"

"Yeah, he seemed nice."

"You go and tell him you have my permission to stay, and then come back here.  And I'll tell you all about this marvelous engine we're building."

She nodded, beaming and giving him a mock-salute.  Then she ran out of the room with all the youthful energy of a gnome child.

Dav took a deep breath.  Cap gave him a thumbs up, which was as much to reassure him as to check that he was okay.

Dav worried the hem of his workshirt.  "I'll tell her," he said, very quietly.  "She deserves to know.  She'll probably hate me, but…I'll tell her, I promise."  He picked up the tray and offered Cap one of the two glasses.  "I want you to hold me to it.  Don't let me put it off indefinitely or something."

Cap tinked his glass against Dav's in silent assent.

 

#

             

Lucy looked over the dining room table, where Taako's offerings had been set out.  It was a feast fit for a king, a marvel of culinary beauty.  But she had to wait until after the judging before she could eat any of it.

"Okay," said Lup 1, "what've you got here, brother of mine?"

Taako waved a hand as if these masterpieces were no big thang.  "Well, we start with an appetizer of crudités because plants, 'natch."  At the center of the table was a vase full of of "flowers" made of various fresh vegetables carved into rosettes and stems and leaves.  "There's a spread of three different herbal dressings for dipping, a creamy dill and two vinaigrettes, a sweet raspberry and a savory balsamic."

"Sweet," said Lup 1.

"Savory," said Lup 2.

"Extra points for the prominent squash shaped like a dick."

Taako smirked.  "Pan loves all his creations."  He moved down the table.  "The main course is a desert fowl lightly roasted to a golden-brown, stuffed with a mixture of herbs, cheese, and bread crumbs."

"Rad," said Lup 1.

"A roasted fowl with a tiny chef's hat and the words 'Taako 2: The Sequel Nobody Wanted' spelled out in cloves?"  Lup 2 raised both eyebrows.  "I'm honestly not sure whether to dock points for presentation or add them."

"Well, that is impressive, you have to admit.  Very legible," said Lup 1.

"I'm convinced!  Points added!"  Lup 2 scrawled something on her clipboard, while Taako 2 grumbled behind her.

"And for dessert, I stuck with a sweet floral theme," said Taako, moving on to the end of the table.  "Lavender cake, infused with just a bit of lemon for a little citrus kick."  He gestured to a cake frosted in pale purple waves.  A spray of lavender rested across its top, and fondant ivy wove its way down the sides.

"Very lovely," said Lup 1.  "Digging the presentation, and the taste is delicate and well-balanced."

"Eh," said Lup 2, "pretty but tame.  Docking one point for lack of a single lewd joke or dick reference."

Taako shrugged.  "Knew I shoulda added the dildo cake-topper."

That was the sentence Captain Davenport walked in on.  He took in the whole scene, one eyebrow raised.  Lucy smiled and waved him over to join the rest of the audience.

"Always go with your gut, my man," said Lup 2.  She and Lup 1 tallied their points, muttered to each other, nodded, and moved on to Taako 2's spread, which had been set out on the common room table.

"All right, walk us through," said Lup 1.

Taako 2 cracked his knuckles.  "I decided to pay homage to the long and winding path Barold Greenjeans over there took to try to worm his way into everyone's good graces.  So that he'll never forget that he used to be a major fuck-up.  So I started with a fruit salad served in a skull-shaped bowl."

"Simple premise," said Lup 1, "killer execution."

"That's the idea.  And in keeping with the nature theme, I declined to add any syrups or extra juices, so the fruit can stand on its own merits without false sweeteners.  Do you like it?  I'll let you be the judge."

"You have a permit for the amount of shade you're throwing?" Lup 2 remarked, scribbling down some notes.

"Please.  I'm merely capturing Barold's essence.  Moving on, the main dish is a play on the word 'pan', given a necromantic twist."  He gestured to a very long bread loaf, baked into the shape of a bone.  Thin lattice strips had been wrapped around the main length to give the impression of mummy wrappings.  Taako 2 picked up a knife and cut it open, revealing that its insides were stuffed with minced meat and onions, delicately herbed.  "Pick up a fork and try some of that delicious marrow," he said.  "And if we get points for dick jokes, you can note that this dish is called 'Taako 2's Superior Boner.'"

Lup 2 snickered. 

"Very bold," said Lup 1, taking more notes.

"And for dessert, chocolate-covered clusters of mixed nuts.  Beneath the dark coating, something unexpectedly crunchy.  Sprinkled lightly with sea salt to balance the rich sweetness of the dark chocolate."  He examined his fingernails and added, "I'd also like to point out that all my dishes are dairy-free, so both Barolds Colorjeans over there can enjoy them to their full potential."

"Rad!" said Lup 2.

"I think that just about wraps it up," said Lup 1.  "We're gonna tally the votes and then get to the best part, where everybody gets to dig in!"  And they retreated to the far side of the common room, heads bowed together, whispering to each other as they compared their clipboards.

"May the best Taako win," said Taako 1.

"Yeah," said Taako 2, distracted.  He seemed to come to a decision, and crossed the room to stand before Barold Greenjeans.  Barold stood up, eyes wide, like he expected a fight.  Both Magnus and Lieutenant Burnsides stood, ready to intervene if necessary.  Taako 2 shot them both cold looks.

"So yeah," said Taako 2.  "You know what my caveat is.  You hurt my sister, you break her heart, you'll have to deal with fuckin' both of us."

Barold licked his lips.  "Taako—"

"M'not finished, homie," he said.  He glanced back at his spread on the common room table.  "Congrats on tryin' to be a better fuckin' man," he said.  "I mean that."  He stuck out a hand.

Barry looked at the hand as if he were still unsure if it might not be a venomous lizard.  "Uh…"

"Look, this offer's not gonna last for long.  I'm going out on a fuckin' limb, here."

Barry took a deep breath.  "Okay," he said, "okay."  And he took Taako's hand and shook it.

Taako 2 didn't smile, but he didn't frown, either.  He walked back to wait beside Taako 1 for the results.

"Why'd ya do it?" asked Taako 1.  "Didn't think you were the type to bury the hatchet."

Taako 2 shrugged.  "I was pissed because my sister was dating a fuckin' asshole," he said.  "But she's not anymore."

"Mm," said Taako 1.  "So I guess it's your turn next.  To stop bein' an asshole, I mean."

Taako 2 smirked.  "You first."

"Nah, cha-boi's got a rule never to mess with perfection."

Taako 2 opened his mouth to say something, but both Lups swung around with big grins on their faces. 

"After tallying the votes," said Lup 1, "we are pleased to announce the winner of Taako's Kitchen Time Epic Throwdown "

"Taako 2," said Lup 2, "it was close, but you definitely pulled ahead in the category of throwing the most shade."

"Taako 1," said Lup 1, "we both agree that you won in the category of pure presentation.  Your dishes are, in a word, amazing to look at."

"All other categories were dead tied," said Lup 2, "which means…"

"…it's a tie!"  Both Lups flung out their hands, releasing bursts of glitter and small flames.

"Whaaaaaa?" said Magnus.

And then the crew—both crews—were treated to a rare Synchronized Taako Smirking Eye-roll.

"Figures," said Taako 2 with a shrug.

"Wait, was this gonna be the outcome regardless?" asked Taako 1.  "Like, were you two just gonna award points where we both ended up with the same totals?"

Lup 2 shrugged.  "Honestly, we thought about doing that."

"But you two just made it easy for us.  Soooo…good job!"

Taako 1 snort-laughed.  "Okay, whatevs. Time to dig in!"

"Woooo!  Food time!"  Magnus practically launched himself from the couch.

"Hey, save some for the rest of us!" Merle cried, waddling after.  

"Hey, Barry should be getting first dibs," said Lup 2.  "It is his party, after all!"

Lucy hesitated before getting to her feet, looking around at the gathered party.  She laughed.

"What is it?" asked Creesh.

Lucy wiped a tear from her eye.  "I was right," she said.  "I was right, and the Dark Owl was wrong.  When darkness meets light, the dark is illuminated."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, there's just a short epilogue left and I'll be posting it next Wednesday after I get back from vacation. In the meantime, thank you for all the great comments and responses! I love you all! <3


	31. Epilogue

**Farcry Desert: Midsummer Day, 1544**

 "Burnsides," Terra's voice crackled over the stone of Farspeech, "I've just received confirmation that the Starblaster has breached the Prime Material Plane and is en route to the edge of the planar system.  That gives us another 5-10 minutes before the Hunger gives up and retreats."

"So, hold on for a max of ten minutes," said Lieutenant Burnsides.  "Got it!"

"How's your team holding up?  Do you think you can hold your spot?"

Burnsides looked up just in time to see Dav swoop down on what looked like a black opal mountain lion of some sort, his power suit's mechanical talons latching on.  He hauled it into the sky, bond engine crackling with white lightning, and tossed it through the narrow pass at an oncoming pack of more black-opal critters.  Lup blasted the pack with an impressive fireball, while Taako turned the ground into thick, molasses-like ooze in order to slow them down.

"Yeah, I think we're good," said Burnsides.  "I'll let you know if things get dicey."

"Understood.  Commander Terra, out." 

Burnsides nocked another arrow and took aim at a ten-foot-tall cyclops. 

Dav cried out as a small black-opal gryphon dug its talons into his arm.  He twisted in air, trying to knock it loose.  Burnsides switched up his aim and went for the gryphon instead.

The arrow struck it through the wing.  It screamed and detached itself, but Dav lost height and was dangerously close to the cyclops's reach.

Lup blasted the cyclops with a wave of fire.  The creature staggered back, giving Dav an opening to get out of its reach and retreat back to Burnsides' position. 

Barry ran forward and began to cast a healing cantrip on his arm.  Dav was breathing hard as he removed his helmet.  "How are we doing?"

"Honestly, running out of spell slots faster than I'd like," said Lup, also withdrawing to a safer spot.  "Taako?"

Taako flicked his wand.  The narrow, rocky path that led from Marlyn up to Golden Valley was blocked off as a solid wall of pink crystal rose up out of the ground.  "That should hold 'em off," he said.  "For a few minutes, at least."

"Anyone else need some healing?" asked Barry.  "Lup, you good?"

"I'm good, hon," she said.  "Taako's a little bloodied, though."

"On it!"

"Thanks, my man."

Dav pulled a tiny ballpeen hammer from a toolkit from his belt and began working at a dented armor panel on his left forearm.  "Fuck, they weren't kidding about these things," he said.  "Vicious little bastards, aren't they?"

"Well," said Taako with a smirk, "we'll just have to be even more vicious bastards at them, huh?" 

"That's the plan."  Dav glanced up the stony path that led up to Golden Valley, eyebrows pinched in worry.  Elder Treeba and the other former warren elders, safely ensconsed in Sapphire Bay, had given their permission for people in Marlyn Town and the surrounding settlements to use the warren's old bunkers for safety.  Dug into the rocky hills and reinforced by generations of gnomes, they would be able to withstand the tremors caused by the Hunger's thick trunks, which poured out of the black sky and pounded at the earth.  All their team needed to do was keep the Hunger's forces from reaching up into Golden Valley and breaching the tunnels.

Seven minutes, now.

A few more flying critters flew over the crystal wall.  The twins took potshots at them, knocking them out of the sky.  The crystal began to crack as the Hunger's non-flying forces pounded at it from the other side.

Barry darted among the group, casting buffs and healing them where needed.  Dav put away the hammer and checked one of the steel talons on his left hand.  He pulled out a small wrench and tightened a nut.

"Hey," he said suddenly, looking up at Burnsides.  "I know this may be a weird time to say this, but…you're a good man, Burnsides.  I wish…"  He blinked, shook his head.  "I wish I'd reached out to you after Broken Hill.  Maybe if we'd just talked, shared what we were going through, maybe we could've helped each other."  He looked away.  "I dunno, it's just something I keep thinking about.  Ways we could've avoided the whole Raptor shitshow."

Burnsides smiled grimly.  "In my experience," he said, "it's best not to get knotted up in what might have been.  Shit happened, but we're still here, and this is the best thing we could be doing right now."  He clapped a hand on his shoulder.  "For what it's worth," he added, "when you're not under an evil enchantment, you're a pretty cool dude, too."

Dav gave him a weak smile and a shrug, as if he wanted to accept the compliment graciously but didn't quite believe him.

The cracks in the crystal spread.

"Incoming," said Taako.

Burnsides straightened, grip tight on his bow.  Dav waved his hand, and a massive illusion of feathers and flames appeared between them and the wall.  It was a giant phoenix.

"That should make them hesitate," he said.  "Maybe give us an opening."

"Ooh, I'm digging it!" said Lup, a gleeful smile lighting up her face.

Suddenly, a song began to play in the back of Burnsides' head.  It was an anthem with a strong beat like a pounding heart, and it sang of victory.  He'd heard it dozens of times before, written by Lucretia and performed by many different bards around Farcry over the past nine months, Allen chief among them.  From the looks on his teammates' faces, they were hearing music too.  Their stances firmed up and their spirits lifted.

Dav smiled warmly.  "Sounds like Lucretia's done her thing," he said.

"That's a—that's a rush," said Barry.  "Guys, maybe this is just the music talking, but I really think we've got a chance at this!"

"Oh yeah, hun," said Lup, "let's fuck the Hunger up!"

"Hell yeah!" said Taako. 

Burnsides readied another arrow, aiming at the place where the crystal wall was about to come down.  "Hey Dav," he said, giving him an encouraging smile.  "Whaddaya say…distinguished courage in battle?"

Dav blinked at him.  A daring smile dawned across his face.  "Distinguished courage in battle," he echoed.

The wall came down with a thunderous crack.  And the former Raptors leapt into battle, voices defiant and talons extended.

 

#

 

Davenport had thought long and hard about what he wanted to say when he could finally speak again.  He'd run through several options, discarded the overly sentimental essays and the dry tongue-twister jokes and the dramatic speeches, and settled on something brief but meaningful and heartfelt, neither too formal nor too vulnerable.

But as the white bond-threads re-stitched him at the wheel and he felt his tongue pressing against the back of his teeth again, adrenaline still pounding in his veins, he became suddenly aware that everyone was staring at him, waiting with bated breath.  And all his planned words went right out the window.

His thoughts stumbled, latching by habit onto the familiar and inanely practical.  "Well," he said briskly, "it's a new cycle.  Let's take the ship down and set up a watch."

Merle sighed, shaking his head.  Lup shrugged.

"Shit, I was hopin' for a tongue twister," Taako remarked.

Davenport's hands clenched over the wheel.  Fuck.  Way to be inspiring.

He cleared his throat and turned to face his crew.  He took a deep breath.  "Thank you," he said.  "All of you."  His prepared speech was long gone, so he improvised, letting the words roll freely.  "I…I couldn't have done it without you.  I mean that.  You all kept me going in ways I would never have imagined possible—"

Moving with a single intent that he could only wish they displayed during their team training, his entire crew rushed him for what was the second most glorious group hug he'd ever been the center of. 

"There's our fucking captain back," said Lup.

"Yeah, I was starting to miss you ordering us around," said Taako.

"And venting about how we're all terrible people," said Merle with a snarky grin. 

Davenport snorted.  "Any other cycle, I'd make the obvious joke that you're _my_ terrible people.  But…"  He paused, feeling out his words like a man in the dark.  "You're not.  We're not.  We make mistakes and we fuck up, myself included.  But there's so much light in you."  He blinked, throat suddenly tight.  "I never knew how much _light_."

He let his gaze unfocus.  But whatever strange trick of bond energy had allowed him to see bond threads, the ability was gone with the reset.

But that was alright.  He already knew what love bound them to each other.  He knew. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'd like to say a big thank you to all my readers for joining me on this crazy longfic adventure  It's been a real trip, and your comments and support along the way has meant so much to me! Thank you for sharing the journey with me. As a small token of gratitude, I drew you all another comic. Think of it as a Marvel movie stinger! (Sorry about the uneven scan quality, because my sketchbook is bigger than my scanner's bed. It's not perfect, but it's the best I could do.) Dropbox link is here: https://www.dropbox.com/s/7xhyjeja50acfe3/Songbirds.jpg?dl=0
> 
> I've read so many TAZ fics by now that I can't always remember where I drew specific headcanons or character notes from. But I'd like to give a few specific fic recommendations, especially those that have helped shape my interpretation of the tragically-overlooked Davenport. "Regulations" by Pep_Squad_Levi (https://archiveofourown.org/works/11820852) and "Words on a Page" by Chemicallywrit (https://archiveofourown.org/works/12445581/chapters/28322160) are two great longfics that delve into his backstory and follow him through post-Canon. "Out of the Warren" by SparkleDragons (https://archiveofourown.org/works/13490988/chapters/30937701) is a shorter fic but I love the idea of gnomes living in huge extended-family warrens--an idea which I kept here.
> 
> Finally, if you've finished reading this and you're thinking, "This is great, but I really need more Davenport and/or Lucretia angst in my life," have I got a story for you! Within the next couple of weeks, I'll start posting my next longfic, "The Lonely and the Wordless," which will be an examination of the 10 years that those two spent together post-Mindwipe. It'll be a blend of angst, domestic fluff, and slice of life, and I hope you like it! In the meantime, I have a few other stories up on AO3, including a series of short fics examining the relationship between Davenport & Lup. So if you enjoyed that dynamic in this story, feel free to check them out!
> 
> Once again, thank you for coming along on this ride with me. Peace out!


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